


Playing Scheherazade

by hovercraft



Series: Playing Scheherazade AU [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gilgamesh (Fate) Being Gilgamesh (Fate), Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, proto saber with regular gil is apparently my fav
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:57:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18577741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hovercraft/pseuds/hovercraft
Summary: In an alternate world where Camelot and Uruk exist closer in proximity and time, Gilgamesh captures the King of Knights and intends to make a toy out of him. Desperate to buy time to escape, Arthur recounts the story that made him King, hoping to avoid the inevitable. He doesn't count on Gilgamesh getting attached.This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written.





	1. Chapter 1

They didn’t take him without a fight.

His armor scuffed, his cloak tattered, Arthur was in heavy chains when they brought him before the king of Uruk. Excalibur might have been wrought from his grip, but his eyes still held the light of a fight—like if it weren’t for the fact that he was quite literally bound, he’d be fighting his captors every step of the way, throwing their bodies ahead of him as a gift to the king. He was told the Knights of the Round Table either escaped, died honorably, or were captured just as he had been, but he wasn’t told who or where. Arthur fully expected his head to roll the moment he met the fabled King of Uruk—none other than Gilgamesh himself. He hadn’t crossed blades with him on the battlefield… had he been sitting here this entire time?

As the hall doors were thrown open, Arthur resisted walking forward before one of the soldiers kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to stagger forward. Gilgamesh didn’t even rise from his throne for the sight of the King in front of him. Rather, he crossed one leg over the other and appraised him with some scrutiny. The fire in his eyes was delicious.

“Your forces gave me some trouble.” Gilgamesh leaned onto one hand as he looked him over. “But not anymore. Now Excalibur can return to my treasury, and you…” He paused. “What to do with you?”

Arthur met his eyes and the sheer impudence had Gilgamesh lash out with the chains of heaven from his treasury to wrap around his neck and _pull_ it downward. Arthur would have to learn his place.

“Don’t you know not to look directly upon your superior? Or do you think you’ve earned the right as a fellow king?” Walking down the steps of his throne, he watched as Arthur choked against the pressure wrapped around his neck. “Well? Answer me.”

“If you’re going to kill me… then kill me…”

Gilgamesh grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up to face him properly. “I’m not going to kill you. What a waste of your precious body and pride. No, I’ve had my eye on you for a while now. Even now, you’re rejecting me with such a stony gaze! Is it because I killed your men? Ravaged your halls, robbed your kingdom blind?” Gilgamesh’s voice swelled with laughter, as if watching Arthur’s face fall was the highlight of his day. “Well… I’m not the monster you think I am. I might have slaughtered your army, but I’ve ordered my men to avoid senseless murder. Your _people_ should be mostly alive. They’re my precious bargaining chip, after all.”

Arthur looked up at him, feeling Gilgamesh prick his weakness like a needle on a spinning wheel. His people were fine…? The women and children, the elderly and the infirm, they were okay? What on Earth would spur Gilgamesh to choose mercy?

“I will annex your land into my kingdom. I will treat them as my own citizens. I will even order my men to bury your dead. But you must give me something in return.”

“You already have Excalibur—” Arthur choked out, “I have nothing to give.”

“Are you stupid? Did you not hear me tell you exactly what was precious in your situation?” Gilgamesh yanked the chain tighter as Arthur felt air desperately leave him. “Your body and your pride. You will give them both to me. First, your pride.”

Arthur looked up at him in shock, and then, miraculously, struggled against the chains with some effort, as if to spit ‘never’ right in his face, if only the words could be summoned.

“Kneel.”

Arthur felt the chains loosen around his neck, weighing his options. When presented with only Gilgamesh’s word that his people were safe, he wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Still, kneeling was a small price to pay to assure their safety. Gilgamesh was positively mad—there was no telling what he would do when angry. Slowly, he got down on one knee, then the other. Anything, anything for those who were scared and surviving the onslaught—

Gilgamesh looked far too pleased for something like this—something people did for him on a day to day basis. Arthur wasn’t looking him in the face, though. He merely concentrated on the sight of his legs, trying to ignore the rising anger at the sheer gall this man had. And his body? Did Gilgamesh intend to bed him? Arthur would do anything for his kingdom, for the sake of the lives of the innocent, but defiling him was going too far!

“Good.” Gilgamesh took in the sight as greedily as one could. Arthur looked good on his knees, he could get used to the sight—speaking of… “And I’m sure you know what the rest entails.”

“…”

“Oh? You can breathe, but you’re still at a loss for words in front of me? Is my presence that intoxicating?”

“… I want proof.” Arthur demanded, fighting his way back to a standing position. “I want the evidence that my Kingdom isn’t in ruins! You’ve already taken so much from me… as if I would give any more with only so much as your word!”

At first, it was just a titter of a laugh before Gilgamesh broke into a full bodied guffaw. Arthur really thought he had some modicum of control here! He could break him into doing as he wished without his cooperation, but this day, with so many things going right, Gilgamesh felt generous.

“Who do we have of Arthur’s chained up in the dungeon?” Gilgamesh barked to one of his men.

“Gawain, your majesty.” At that, Arthur lifted his head slightly. Gawain, at least, was alive!

“I’ll give you this, Arthur. I will have you dressed and prepared for me. In the meantime, I will let your knight survey the land and see that I am good on my word. When he reports back to you, you surrender to me. This is the limit of my generosity. Don’t disrespect me any further.”

The chains left Arthur’s body, though the ones cuffing his hands and legs together remained. Hands under each of his arms, he was dragged from the throne room with little other words. All he could see was Gilgamesh’s smug face smiling over his shoulder as he returned to his seat upon the throne.

\--

The servants attending Arthur took their time removing his armor and discarding it, and with modesty he tried to profess that he could dress himself, but the servants insisted upon it. Off came the clothes and into the large, almost Olympic-sized bath he was pushed, heated with fire stoked by the servants. Fresh water flowed from fountains into the cloudy white water, fragrant with soaps and oils. He was scrubbed thoroughly, his wounds taken care of, his hair washed, and he felt like a doll that was getting ready to be put on display. The lavish attention to detail made him sick when he knew that his own people were dying or suffering and he was forced to play along with Gilgamesh’s game.

They dressed him in draping silks and sashes befitting someone royal in Uruk’s eyes. Blue on white. Jewels and bangles on his wrists, draping on his head, so on. This felt calculated on Gilgamesh’s part. He was dressing him up like one of _his_. Making him aware of the fact that he was essentially having a spa day while his men still lay dead on the battleground.

The first time they’d met, Gilgamesh had shown his interest from the very start. The fabled King of Knights who valued his people over himself, hardly a King at all. He would do better as a concubine than a ruler, and the disrespect had shocked Arthur back when those words left his lips. It was then that he decided that Camelot and Uruk would never get along—had that been his downfall? Not giving him a chance from the start? It didn’t matter. No matter what, Gilgamesh was a disagreeable person.

“I need to see Gawain,” He demanded of his entourage as soon as he was cleaned up. “Please, I need to—”

But it wouldn’t be allowed. He would be ushered to Gilgamesh’s quarters and left there, abandoned like a stray cat with nothing but his own survival skills and wounded pride to keep him afloat.

\--

“Prisoner.”

Gawain lifted his head to the sound of his would-be executioner. The cells in Uruk were no nicer than the ones in Camelot, and for once he was on the other side of the jail cell. He said nothing.

The door slid open. “You have been entrusted with a task by our King. Rejoice, as he as nobly spared your life.”

“A task…” Gawain murmured. “And what would the man who ravaged my homeland ask of me?”

“Your king lives. In fact, King Gilgamesh has taken him in as a possession.”

“Then damn him! Our king is nobler than that, to be used as a toy—He would rather die! I’m sure!”

“Calm down. He definitely wanted to.” The chains holding Gawain to the wall were unlocked, and two guards were ordered in to hold him in place. “You’ve been tasked to travel through Camelot and make sure its citizens have been spared by King Gilgamesh. You will then report back to Arthur what you saw.”

“Why…? Why such games?”

“Because your King is trading his life for the sake of his people. If he chose to die, our King would have them slaughtered.”

“…” Gawain hadn’t expected anything less of Arthur, who when given a deal that would spare the lives of his subjects, would take it every time. “And what of my life when this task is over?”

“Whatever the King wants. For now, you do as you’re told.”

 

\--

 

Behind the closed doors of Gilgamesh’s room, Arthur pondered his escape.

There was a large balcony hid only by curtains that could lead the way out, but posed a different challenge; the steep fall that would surely kill him. The walls were flat with no way to grapple, and even then, there were guards positioned below. He could hear murmuring from outside the door, confirming yet more guards outside. Arthur felt practically naked in the clothes he was given—he wouldn’t be able to endure one hit from a spear or a sword like this.

Excalibur… was probably in the king’s treasury, that mythical thing.

Arthur was cornered no matter where he looked. He took a seat on the bed, wringing his hands, thinking of his people, his home… now would be a really convenient time for Merlin to show up. She’d know just what to do—

But she was gone.

He was left alone just long enough for him to search the room for weapons. If nothing else, he could fight his way out if Gilgamesh wasn’t true to his word, but he’d been stripped down to nothing but eye candy. Just looking at the clothes he was in filled him with anger.

“I see they treated you well.”

Gilgamesh strutted in like a cat who owned the place, and Arthur glared. “To strip me down to nothing and dress me in the clothes of another Kingdom is—”

“Debasing? I disagree. This is a step up from that shoddy armor you wore before.” Gilgamesh looked him over, approving of the taste his servants had in dressing him up. “And you had better get used to it. Gawain has been dispatched on his quest and sooner or later, you’re going to have to surrender to me.”

“Am I not even allowed my own quarters?”

“I want to keep an eye on you. Somewhere I know you can’t escape, yet not nearly as bad as the dungeon. You were a King, after all. You’re a step up from my concubines.”

“C—concubine!” Arthur sputtered. “Listen, I have my pride. I will not sully myself for your sake.”

“As if that’d be sullying yourself—people fall at the chance to even look upon my face. But fine… having you bend to my will later will be all the more satisfying. But I expect you to entertain me in the meantime. I can cut off your head whenever I want. You are lovely to behold in your shamed state, Arthur, but not _that_ beautiful that I can’t live without you.”

“Entertain you—I—I am a king!”

“You’ve been deposed. Thoroughly. You are at my whim now, what of this do you not get? Camelot will belong to Uruk from now on. But you are right… you are a legend born of noble blood. I can forgive you—if you recount that tale to me.”

“The story of my birth?”

“I hear it’s quite a tale.”

The gears turned quietly in Arthur’s head. There was quite a story behind Arthur, and the longer he stretched it out, the more likely he wouldn’t bore this king. He could buy time for a plan. A rescue team, anything. He was the one true King of Britain, and he couldn’t abandon his post to become Gilgamesh’s plaything. Why had he ever considered giving up?

“Well,” Arthur began, taking a seat on the bed that Gilgamesh sauntered around and lay back on. A few servants came in with wine and fruit to serve their king. Arthur was offered a glass, and without thinking, took it out of politeness. He dared not drink it—even he knew of poisons that could knock someone out. “It began in Tintagel, where my mother, Igraine was sent away by my father, Uther, the king of Britain…”

\--

He managed to stretch the story on just long enough that he didn’t get to the next important part—the bit with the sword and the stone. Gilgamesh was clearly tired, and without even considering that Arthur could kill him in his sleep, fell into just that.

He considered it, of course, when the servants had left the room and he itched to smother him with a pillow, but he’d be on the business end of a sword if he even tried. Pillow versus an arsenal of near-infinite weapons? Arthur looked at him in disgust. How long would Gawain be gone? By boat, Uruk was a fair distance from Britain, and even farther on foot. The fact that this conquest took place at all was nothing short of a miracle. He guessed that he might have two weeks, one if the trip was hurried, and his story couldn’t last that long. He’d have to start telling the stories of the other Knights of the Round, too…

Uncomfortable sitting on the bed where Gilgamesh slept, Arthur leaned on the side of the balcony and watched the stars. Somewhere out there his people still lived, he hoped. Making the ultimate sacrifice for them would have been nothing at all. Making the sacrifice he was doing now?

A lot harder.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur found himself asleep on an elegant sofa on the other side of the room.

Sometime during the night, he must have wandered over and sat down, not daring to go close to Gilgamesh’s bed. The urge to strangle him would be too strong, and he wouldn’t compromise his pride any longer by being willingly close. The fact that he had kneeled left a bitter taste in his mouth. He should have waited until he knew everyone was safe before dishonoring himself so thoroughly. He left a stain on Britain with that single action, but he still prayed viciously for the hope of his people.

The gods of this world were foreign to him; they were pagans, not unlike Morgan. Gilgamesh supposedly had slain several divine beasts before turning his sights on conquest. He didn’t know what to believe in regard to that, but he knew this much; Gilgamesh was strong in a way Arthur didn’t compare against. In a duel between them, even with Excalibur, he would not have luck on his side, even with the blessing of Nimue.

What was he to Gilgamesh?

Certainly not a bride, but he said he was no mere concubine either. He expected thoroughly to be dragged through the mud, but instead, he’d been dressed up like a guest of honor, given fine jewels and gold, though he imagined it was all part of the show. His shackles had been exchanged for bangles that were just as weighty in significance. He was a _pet_. His head could be on a pike outside but instead, Gilgamesh was showing off how he tamed a once noble king into not even striking against him while he slept.

His fists clenched on his knees as he renewed his vigor for a plan to escape. He searched for a rope and an anchor—anything to tie over the balcony. He could fight his way past the guards if he grabbed a weapon off them. Why had he thought of idling for so long?

He was alone in the room, Gilgamesh long gone. He gathered up the sheets and started tying knots at the corners of them. It made a rope long enough to get him to the ground—there was just getting around the guards stationed there—

Maybe if he watched the post long enough, they’d move? Or maybe… he pulled off one of the rings he’d been decorated with. If he threw this, they’d check it out, he could run, and—

A woman entered as soon as he was done making the rope. She stared at him, then hurriedly took it from his hands.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Siduri asked, un-knotting the blankets and hurriedly throwing them back on the bed. “You should know what would happen if you tried to escape! You’re lucky it was me who walked in on you and not the king!”

Taken aback by this sudden concern for his wellbeing, Arthur hadn’t expected anyone to worry about what King Gilgamesh was going to do with him. “I—certainly you must understand…”

“I… am loyal to my king and no one else. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t pity you. Honestly! Value your life enough to think!” She finished putting the linens back on properly and sighed. “You are a deposed king, you should be grateful to live at all!”

Arthur lowered his head. “You could never understand. My men are dead or captured, my army laid waste to… it would have been better to die honorably with them than this.”

“Are you thinking nothing of your people? I heard the deal Gilgamesh made with you. It’s one of the most generous things I’ve known him to do.”

“Do you know if it’s true?”

“… I was never at the battlefield, but—he has no reason to lie to you or go that far for your comfort. To him, people are means to an end. Truthfully, I have no idea why he spared you.”

Arthur sat down. His pride was screaming in outrage, but he had to temper it as long as he could. He had to plan, think outside the box. Escape wasn’t an option, and neither was giving in. What else could he _possibly_ do…? … perhaps there was a third way. Not the best way, nor the one he desired most, but something that could guarantee he still had a say in Britain’s wellbeing. That was _if_ Gilgamesh was good on his word.

“What brought you here?” Arthur interrupted his own thoughts to ask the more pressing question on his mind.

“I…” She paused, blush obscured by her veil. “I wanted to see you for myself. I’ve been assigned to help you get comfortable here in your new home.”

New home…

“Am I to stay in Gilgamesh’s room every night?”

“That’s what he wants. He doesn’t even let women stay here, I have no idea why you have permission,” She continued on. “But it means he values you highly. Perhaps as a prize… perhaps as something else.”

Arthur laughed, bitterly. “Surely, he doesn’t mean to make me a bride.”

“…”

“… _surely_ —” Arthur stammered.

“I don’t know. It’s unorthodox, but he does what he wants. I was going to offer if you wanted a tour of the castle. I… think you know better than to try and escape by now.”

Arthur sighed. If he tried to escape, they might just kill Gawain on the spot. For his sake, he had better avoid any escape until he got back. He still didn’t know the other casualties. For now, the tour of the castle seemed like a good idea… a welcome break.

\--

Never let it be said that Gilgamesh didn’t live in luxury.

Gold adorned everything in sight. Far more luxurious than Britain, each step against the warm pavement could be felt through the sandals he’d been given. People gave him odd looks for his appearance, even moreso knowing who he was. They were accompanied by guards with swords on their belts and spears in their hands, making Arthur feel less like an esteemed guest and more like a prisoner of war—which he was, no doubt about it. The circlet adorning his head was far lighter than any crown, but still felt like a weighty band about his forehead.

The gardens, though—they were beautiful.

Fountains and peacocks, tile artwork that must have taken years to finish placing in the ground felt like history beneath his footsteps. Plant life more suited to the area grew in abundance, and in a wry thought, Arthur imagined that Gilgamesh probably rarely set foot outside here. He was too busy with his kingly duties, whatever _that_ entailed for that spoiled bastard. He probably took every bit of wealth he ever had for granted. Britain needed every bit of the resources it’d had available…

After witnessing one of the servants harvest fruit from the trees, he realized he hadn’t eaten in… well, days. Not since the battle and whatever scraps they gave him when they were carting him back to Uruk.

He was well and truly starving. He glanced to Siduri. “May I--?”

“Oh, we can get you better food than fruit straight off a tree. Gilgamesh ordered we do nothing but the best for you.”

Back in the large quarters Gilgamesh called a bedroom, he was brought what he could only call a feast. Mutton, fruits, vegetables, flat breads and a huge jug of wine in lieu of water—he couldn’t have enough. His lips were dry and chapped from not drinking anything, so he had more than his fair share. This was shameful of him, he thought—he’d be better off starving knowing that some of his men were held captive downstairs. At the very thought, Arthur looked over at Siduri.

“Can I see the dungeon? I want to know which of mine are still there.”

“That was the one place he forbade. I’m sorry.”

Feeling his appetite sour, Arthur drank deeply from his goblet without considering the repercussions. Or maybe he had considered them, but the need for drink outweighed the side effect of becoming drunk. The fruit was fresh and flavorful, and everything… was a far step up from the British cuisine that he knew. These were pagans, who lived for pleasure and good food, wine, and whatever life had to offer. It was far from the pious life Arthur was leading back home, and yet he still craved the gamey meat that would remind him of it.

Anything would be worth being back in Camelot, with his men, with…

…

He hadn’t even thought of her. The commotion surrounding the siege had made him temporarily forget that he no longer had a Queen.

“Hoh, so you’ve finally decided to partake of my pantry and my wine. How does it suit you, ex-King of Knights?”

Flushed in the face, Arthur stood up, a little wobbly on his feet. Gilgamesh noticed like a hawk surveying its prey and let out a dark chuckle.

“Deprived of drink for so long, you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Tsk… well, at least you’re not refusing to imbibe. I would hate to lose you to something so banal as starvation. Siduri, leave.”

She stood up from her bow and immediately hurried out of the room. Gilgamesh took a handful of grapes from a goblet and popped one in his mouth, looking over Arthur with an amused leer. How could he take advantage of Arthur like this? When he was most likely at his most loose-lipped? Arthur tried to make the room stop spinning, but instead, all he did was hobble over from the table where the feast lay to sit on the bed, shaking his forehead and trying to remember—the sword in the stone. Yes, he had to tell the story of the sword in the stone next.

Gilgamesh had other plans, first.

Pushing Arthur back on the bed, Gilgamesh leaned over him with one knee on the bed. His hand firmly held Arthur’s chin, forcing him to look up. He got dangerously close, enough for the two of them to feel the heat off of each other, before Gilgamesh finally relented and let him be.

“Toying with you as a drunk is boring. I can smell the stink of wine on your breath. I wouldn’t dare touch your lips now.” Waving a hand over his shoulder, he took a seat on the other side of the bed. “But you have my permission to continue the story from the night before. You were a young man by then, weren’t you?”

“Just a boy.”

“And there was a sword buried deep into a stone that only a true King could remove, wasn’t there?”

Arthur gave pause, before speaking. “Don’t you have your own legends? Couldn’t I hear some of yours?” He was trying to buy time. If they were both speaking about themselves, he could stave off Gilgamesh toying with him for a little while longer. The king merely glared at him.

“Do I look like I’m here to entertain you? I’ll tell you about myself when you’ve earned it. Now, continue your story. I want to bask in the lore of the man I conquered.”

 _Bastard_ , Arthur thought to himself. Nonetheless, he began speaking. “On a day in late December—winter, I guess by your calendar, there was an anvil and a stone holding a sword in place. The legend went that only the true heir to the throne could remove the sword. Many had tried. Only I had been the one to move it.”

“And that was Excalibur?”

“No, it wasn’t. That sword was just a test. The real Excalibur rested with the Lady of the Lake, Nimue… Who was entangled with the story of two other people important to me. Merlin, the wizard, and… Lancelot.”

“That name I recognize.” Gilgamesh said, suddenly. “Didn’t he steal away your wife?”

“…”

Gilgamesh’s voice turned smug after knowingly hitting on one of Arthur’s weak spots. “What happened of her?”

“Can we get back to the story?”

“No. Tell me.”

Arthur swallowed, hard. “I… had her put to death.”

At that, Gilgamesh raised his eyebrows. He thought this Arthur to be a mercifully kind man, who wouldn’t dare let those beneath him suffer an unjust death. However, hers was justified… Gilgamesh would have done the same.

“You have the proper makings of a king after all.”

“I had no other choice.”

“You didn’t,” Gilgamesh commended, thinking of Arthur’s hidden cruelty. What else did he hide from him? Hadn’t he sized him up so quickly as a goody two shoes? There were depths to this man that were yet unexplored, hidden things he was obviously going to keep guarded from the king who had captured him. He wanted to see this cruel side to him, draw it out and see it in action. Arthur’s pride right now was being tempered by one thing and one thing only—the promise that wholesale slaughter hadn’t come to his kingdom.

“Any children?”

“… none.” Arthur responded, resolutely. Gilgamesh noted the tone and kept it in mind. “Gilgamesh—”

“Yes?”

“What do you intend to make of me?”

Gilgamesh laughed. “It all depends on how much you impress me or fail to do so. I might have big plans for you, or I might have your head.”

“…” That particularly punishing laugh from Gilgamesh’s lips felt like another stab wound to add to the many scars on Arthur’s shoulders and torso. He really was to be his toy…

“Anyway. Continue. Who is this Nimue?”

\--

Like the previous evening, Gilgamesh had nodded off by the time he got to the round table. Again, Arthur had to restrain himself from killing him in his sleep. Even though his chains were gone, Gilgamesh still held him by invisible bonds. No wonder he slept peacefully with this lion of a man in his den. He probably kept other dangerous animals and had them tamed.

He tried to forget how Gilgamesh had pushed him over so easily and taunted him about Guinevere. That wound still hadn’t closed, her betrayal still fresh in his mind. More pressing was what Gilgamesh still intended to do with him even in the best-case scenario. He imagined he would be no more than a slave to him when he’d been dragged up the steps, and he was by no means grateful for the treatment he’d received instead. He would rather suffer with his own than sit peacefully with an enemy.

Arthur picked up a pitcher of wine and poured himself another goblet full. The staff had cleared out all the food since, and only this remained. What he wouldn’t give for fresh water… but this would have to do for now.

He heard a tapping coming from outside the balcony. Wind moved the curtains only slightly, so he couldn’t see who was out there. Hopeful of a rescue, he pushed them aside.

Instead, he almost immediately averted his eyes from a scantly clad woman with dark hair and a black crown. How had she gotten up here? More importantly, who was she?

“You’re the king’s new bride, huh…”

She appeared to size him up with scrutiny. Her bare feet made gentle taps on the stone beneath them, and with the look in her eyes, it was hard to tell exactly what she wanted. She seemed angry, sure… but pensive.

“You’re wise not to look upon me directly!” She exclaimed. “I guess the King of Knights is smarter than he looks.”

“Who… are you…?”

“What? You really don’t know who I am?” Her offended tone spoke volumes. “I… am the goddess of Venus, and the protector of this city! Just by looking upon me, you should tell…!”

Arthur turned to look at her, and she snapped. “I said, no mortal could look upon me!”

Confused, he looked away again.

“Anyway, my name is Ishtar. And I want to meddle in your affairs just a teensy bit. You want your freedom, right?” She grinned.

“Of… course.” He lowered his voice. “But what can you—"

“Then you’ll start doing as I say, starting now. I have a score to settle with Gilgamesh, and something tells me you’re the perfect pawn.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ishtar didn’t give Arthur much time to ponder over the details of their arrangement. It was more like he was pushed face forward into it.

He was to gather ‘dirt’ on Gilgamesh, whatever that was—something that would humiliate him before the Goddess of Venus and get her revenge for several wrongs he apparently did to her. Wrongs that she went into extreme detail to explain—only for him to shush her in order not to wake Gilgamesh up.

“How dare you—I am not to be silenced!”

“He is sleeping!”

“Sleeping…?” Ishtar peeked into the curtain to see the bed where Gilgamesh lay. “He has you in his bedroom already?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Mm-hm…” She looked him up and down suspiciously, then waved it off. Maana was waiting for her just over the ledge of the balcony as she mounted it. “Don’t forget. Something embarrassing, life ruining, whatever!”

“And…” Arthur trailed off. “You’ll send me home if I do it?”

“You’ll have my blessing… or something.” Ishtar wasn’t apparently too concerned with the details. She sped off into the night sky, and Arthur could only be dumbfounded at the random appearance of this strange, pagan god. A crisis of faith was something he needed even less than his predicament now. Back into the room, he still felt dizzy from the drink and relaxed on the same sofa he’d called bed the previous night. A blanket would have been welcome, but it would be a cold day in hell before he slept in Gilgamesh’s bed just for warmth’s sake.

\--

Sunlight had barely started to stream in through the open air balcony when Arthur was roused from his sleep.

“Get up.”

He was surprised that Gilgamesh was still there. His manner of dress was… odd, to say the least. Red pants, a large, ornate golden belt, and a particularly small blue vest. Arthur was suddenly self-conscious that he hadn’t changed his clothes for the past few days, and like he could sense his worry, Gilgamesh threw a fresh set of robes onto his sleeping form. Servants started pouring in as Gilgamesh stood back to watch as they dressed Arthur for a new day.

“E-excuse me! I want privacy--!”

“You’ll have no such thing, here.” Gilgamesh quipped back. “Besides, I doubt you know how to put those on properly by yourself.”

“Do you… have to stay here and watch?”

“I don’t. But I am going to. Let me behold the King of Knights in his full glory—ah, so pale! Let’s see if the sun doesn’t burn you to a crisp by the time you’ve spent a few years here. Hm… not bad… certainly not like my body, but yours is worthy of my gaze. Be grateful.”

Gilgamesh’s commentary through the entire ordeal couldn’t have been more unwelcome. Even the jewelry on his body was changed to suit a new day. The routine was starting to wear on Arthur already and it was only the second time they’ve done this.

“Is there any news from home?” He asked, tentatively.

“Plenty. But what will you believe from me?”

“… whether it’s the truth or not, I can’t live here in—in _luxury_ knowing that my people are—”

“--fine.” Gilgamesh cut him off. “It’s starting to irritate me that you won’t take me at my word, but who could possibly blame you, deposed king? Gawain should be a third along the journey back to Camelot with an entourage accompanying him. The last word I got was that Camelot is full of headless chickens without a king to guide them. It seems that when we arrived at Camelot, we descended when the Kingdom was already in a bit of a tumultuous state… I look forward to hearing the full story from you.”

Right… the Round Table was barely holding it together after the falling out with Lancelot after Guinevere’s execution. In truth, were it not for Gilgamesh, he doubted he could have united them under the same banner again.

It was then that Arthur fully appreciated the precarious nature of his situation.

His kingdom had just been taken from him, his men dispersed, departed, or captured. It had been on the verge of collapsing as it was, but he had desperately hoped Gilgamesh hadn’t noticed… but.

But.

Times of great peril could lead to unification. Though he realized it with a sickened heart, there may yet be a way to save Britain that may not have existed beforehand. He looked at the king and chose his words carefully.

“Gilgamesh… is your intention with me an alliance?”

Gilgamesh let out a full bodied laugh. “Why would I need an alliance when I have the surrendered king before me? Naturally, I will rule over everything that is now mine, and –”

“But you’ll have the cooperation of the people if you have me,” Arthur was navigating this conversation on a tightrope, trying to figure out how to best appeal to Gilgamesh. “We could… unify what remains of Britain. You don’t want to rule over a country that will rebel against you.”

“Arthur.” It was the first time Gilgamesh had called him by his name. “How far would you be willing to go for this little plan of yours? Hm?”

“I’d do anything.” He promised.

“Would you become mine and love me? After what I’ve done to you, your men, your people?”

“…!”

Arthur nearly spoke but silenced himself after thinking for a moment. Gilgamesh clearly thrived on this kind of attention. Getting rises out of him and so on. The best thing to do would be ignoring him, not giving the time of day to his horrible suggestions. He merely closed his eyes as the servants stepped away from him, leaving him dressed for a new day.

“Well, no matter. Come with me.”

“…?”

“You’re accompanying me throughout my castle today. You should see how things function around here.”

“Are you just saying that as an excuse to show me off?”

Gilgamesh grinned.

“Oh, I don’t need an excuse to do that.”

\--

It was humiliating, shadowing Gilgamesh like that.

When they were speaking Sumerian, Arthur couldn’t help but look absolutely dumbfounded, trying to understand what they were saying. This was intentional, no doubt—Gilgamesh would occasionally glance at his face and laugh, cueing him into the fact that they were talking about him. There were more rooms Arthur hadn’t seen, more people who would gawk and stare at him. He might as well have been lead around on a leash. Bitterly, he realized he almost preferred Gilgamesh’s bedroom, albeit not by much.

When it came to discussing what to do with Britain, Gilgamesh had him ushered away. He could brazenly speak of it in Sumerian, just to brag about how Arthur didn’t share the language, but it wasn’t worth the risk and Arthur was brought back to his room. He could overhear the word ‘Agravain’ and he nearly gave himself whiplash in trying to turn around, but he was already being ushered away.

Siduri was back in Gilgamesh’s room, waiting for him. Everything had been cleaned up and tidied by the servants, and Arthur was reluctant to stay put.

“Siduri…” He began.

“You tried to propose an alliance with the king?”

“You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re finally starting to think.”

Arthur’s voice rose, against his will. “He asked if—I would be his, if it would make the alliance work! I could never…! Not after everything he has done. He can’t be serious. He’s just trying to get me to sink to my lowest so he can laugh.”

“You are right on one thing…” Siduri looked him over. “He is testing your conviction, and if I know the king as well as I do, you’d be wise not to roll over if you think it’s for the sake of your people.”

“…?”

“He likes people who fight back and subvert his expectations. Going along with everything he says would simply bore him.”

“So you’re saying I should resist him?”

“It’s more about knowing the right time to resist. I can’t… explain any further than that. I’ve never been in your shoes, I only have to please the King and that’s it.”

Arthur pondered her words, appreciating that he had at least someone on his side in this hellish landscape. “Wait—why are you helping me?”

“I’m not.” She said it so bluntly, Arthur reconsidered that she had been lying this entire time. “I’m helping my King through you.”

Before Arthur could ask any further, Gilgamesh made his presence known by throwing open the doors to his bedroom and telling Siduri that it was time once more for Arthur to entertain him. She quietly bowed and took her leave.

“So…” Gilgamesh took a seat on his bed and reclined, motioning for Arthur to join him. “Are you going to tell me why your Kingdom is in disarray?”

Arthur paused. “In due time… but Gilgamesh, there’s something I want to talk to you about, first.”

“Hmm?”

“You asked if I would be yours in exchange for an alliance. It’s simply not possible. You could never love me.”

Gilgamesh cocked an eyebrow at that.

“I don’t recall ever saying what I can and can’t do.” Gilgamesh’s infatuation, in truth, went deep. It went far enough that he would conquer his kingdom, it went far enough that he would spare the lives of those who could possibly rise up against him, it went deep enough to capture a king and bring him into his bedroom every night. It was an infatuation that started the first time Gilgamesh ever laid eyes on Arthur and heard the whisperings of a legend too good to be true.

“You said I would have to love you for an alliance, but if you can’t do the same, there’s no point. Loving me is the same as loving my people. A selfish man like you could never.”

The needle buried in those words pricked Gilgamesh’s skin. Arthur could feel the chill of his glare on his skin but remained steadfast in his words. “I’m afraid we won’t ever reach an agreement.”

“And sparing them isn’t showing my love?”

“If it’s just a way to get me to cooperate, no. You’re simply using them on a massive chessboard.”

Gilgamesh fell silent, annoyed and amused all the same. This one had a head on his shoulders and was using it to push him into a corner. He had counted on Arthur’s mercy to make him bend to his will, but it was apparent that he had far too much pride for that to ever happen and going against him now would be a waste of efforts.

“Continue your story, then, if all else you have to say is a string of disappointments.”

Arthur sighed and took his seat next to him. “You’re really going to make me recount Rome?”

“Of course. I hear that’s a fairly famous exploit of yours.”

“Well, Emperor Lucius was demanding we pay tribute to Rome, and the Knights and I wanted to settle that score once and for all…”

\--

But no matter how long Arthur spoke, tonight, Gilgamesh didn’t grow tired.

Even as he recounted the tale of being crowned a Roman emperor and returning to Britain anyway, Gilgamesh stared at him as if to force him into continuing. Before long, Arthur realized he’d have to speak of Lancelot.

Bitterly, he instead turned his question to Gilgamesh. “You don’t believe a king serves his people, do you?”

“Of course not. The people serve their king, they aspire to be like their king. Don’t tell me you believe otherwise?”

“I have always acted in the interest of my people. Even now, I am thinking of how to best help them…”

“Surrendering to me would be a good start.”

Arthur only glared. “I already told you, such a union would be impossible.”

“Hmph. I already have you beneath my thumb, yet you still resist me? Sooner or later, when your knight returns, you’re going to have to relent whether you want to or not.”

“That’ll be _if_ he returns. I don’t know if you’re good on your word yet.”

Gilgamesh looked once again both annoyed and pleased, smiling to himself for some unknown reason. With a ‘hmph’, he rolled over onto his side without another word. Arthur took his cue to leave the bed and stretched out onto the sofa he’d claimed as his own.

\--

He was gone again in the morning, and Arthur was glad to be without him.

The days were starting to drag on, between waiting for night to come to tell him more of his story and waiting to hear back from his kingdom and his people. He knew that his options were limited and he had so much to lose if he made the wrong choice, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to let Gilgamesh go too far. He wasn’t so romantic that he believed love was essential to an alliance, but he wasn’t so loveless to believe that he could offer his body and soul to someone who had attacked his land while it was at its weakest. His pride was stronger than that.

“Arthur…?” Siduri spotted him laying on the same sofa as both nights before. Arthur glanced her way.

“I tried following your advice. I don’t think it worked.”

“I think it did, I’ve already spoken with him,” She gave pause before speaking again. “Gilgamesh wants you to love him through your own selflessness. To give up everything for your people, he thinks you will give up everything for him. You showed him that was impossible. I… was hoping you would tell him as much.”

Arthur listened quietly. “Are you using me, Siduri? Is he counseling you on this?”

“I already told you, I only serve my king. However, I’m not steering you in any wrong direction either. I’ve been acting of my own will.”

Arthur wrung his hands, shook his head. “I’d like to be left alone.”

Sensing his discomfort, she quietly pardoned herself, and Arthur was by himself once more. Ishtar’s proposal might be the only way out that didn’t involve surrender.

He’d have to start looking for cracks in the King’s armor.


	4. Chapter 4

With the accompaniment of a few guards, Arthur was now allowed to peruse the palace halls.

Uruk was indeed different from Camelot. Camelot was resplendent, but Uruk showed off its fabulous wealth in every crevice of its buildings. It was no wonder why Uruk was able to topple Camelot so easily; with the chasm between King and his subjects widening and the unrest the people felt, this united army felt like it could take down anything. The guards that accompanied Arthur didn’t speak English; they could only answer his questions if he mimed them.

Servants and guards alike were curious about Arthur. They would often stop and stare, some would look appraisingly, and some would be less than impressed. It didn’t take long to tell the two types of people apart, but they all had the same reaction to him. If Arthur asked for help from someone who could speak English, they would bow their heads and walk away, afraid to even look him in the eye. Apparently, being Gilgamesh’s prize pet meant that people wouldn’t treat you the same as anyone else.

Arthur would soon find his favorite place in the ‘castle’; the aviary and the menagerie.

He was amazed to see tame lions that would accept pets as readily as any housecat. Though Arthur kept his guard up, he was all too happy to spend his time petting them as he waited out the rest of the day where he’d have to return to Gilgamesh’s room to continue his story. Now he was deep within Lancelot’s legend, and it embittered him to speak of his noble story while knowing what he had done. Arthur had no other choice but to stretch them out as long as he could, though, so no detail would be spared.

One night, he returned to see his favorite lion had been brought to the room.

“I figured you might feel more comfortable with a pet,” Gilgamesh mocked, but it was clear he was trying to curry favor from Arthur, if only to meet his own ends. “You’re fond of my animals?”

Arthur sat down, as always, on the sofa he’d claimed as his bed as the lion crawled up on top of it to nuzzle his head into Arthur’s hands. “It’s certainly something. We would never be able to afford such a thing in Camelot.”

“To think a king might be poor… It almost brings a tear to my eye. Thankfully you’ll endure such horrible conditions no longer.”

“I share my wealth with my people. The riches of our adventure always went back into the kingdom.”

“Hah! My people are trusted to find their own way to wealth. That’s why my merchants are the cornerstone of my kingdom; we pride ourselves on good trade. What do you have in Britain that’s so desired? Nothing, except for you, and I have already claimed you.”

Arthur felt himself tense, but the Lion resting on his lap made it hard to stay angry at the things Gilgamesh would say constantly; ‘you are mine’ ‘you belong to me’, so on and so forth. Arthur was determined not to belong to anyone but his people, but Gilgamesh fought tooth and nail to believe otherwise.

“Why are you so—” Obsessed was the right word, but saying it would earn him an earful about how he wasn’t _obsessed_ , don’t flatter yourself. “… Why do you like me so much?”

“Because I have watched you for a long, long time… you recount tales to me of your exploits, but I have heard my fair share of your stories from around the world. You are a treasure not just because of the sword you wield, but out of the legend you build around yourself. And all treasures in the world belong to me.”

“Do you… love me?”

Arthur expected something along the lines of ‘I don’t love my possessions’, but Gilgamesh surprised him.

“I do.”

“Wh—”

“What’s with that surprised look? Do you think I took several calculated risks to bring you here because I simply wanted to listen to your fairy tales? Here’s your lesson in kingship for today; seize what you want and forget all else. I wanted you, so I have made you mine.”

Arthur stroked the mane of the lion, recalling what he told Gilgamesh last. ‘You cannot love me, because you cannot love my people’, or something along those lines. He still believed them, but Arthur had to consider his people still.

“I am not yet yours.”

“Fool. Do you not wear the jewels I have bestowed upon you? The clothing on your very back? Do you not cleanse yourself in my baths, and have permission to sleep in my bed? It is only by your own exile that you sleep on that couch. You _are_ mine.”

However, Gilgamesh grinned. “You said ‘yet’. Earlier you were professing that you would never be mine. Are you coming to your senses?”

“No—I mean… I already said I would do anything for my kingdom. If being ‘yours’ meant I could save Britain and my people, I would’ve said yes a long time ago, no matter my pride.”

“What proof do you have that it won’t?”

“Exactly. I have no proof either way. Are you waiting for Gawain as anxiously as I am?”

“I don’t need results, I already know what Gawain will say.”

Arthur paused. For all the obsession that Gilgamesh had with him, Arthur knew nothing of Gilgamesh. He never had any time to entertain himself with the kings of legend when he was off making his own. “Is there nothing you can tell me of yourself?”

Gilgamesh thought it over before answering. “I was once a much crueler man, a crueler king. I was changed by my greatest and dearest friend.”

It was impossible to believe Gilgamesh was even crueler than he was now, having taken Arthur from his kingdom at the apex of its downfall. Before he considered sharing the rest of the story, but now Gilgamesh was shaking his head.

“Maybe I have captured you to try to relive the magic of those days. You haven’t bored me. I even see something familiar in your eyes.” He paused, sighing. “You and I are immortal—not in life, but to time. You will be remembered by human history, as will I. Perhaps that’s why I sought you out…”

“You should let me go.”

“You will die.”

That took Arthur by surprise. “What?”

“I’m a clairvoyant. If you return to Camelot, you will die.” Gilgamesh said it so calmly, so easily that Arthur might have taken it for a joke. “Mordred, was it? He will kill you.”

“…”

“But you can live a long life here. Really, you should be grateful for my interference. Camelot will prosper under my rule. I will even allow you to influence it. This generosity is excessive by my standards, and yet, for you, I will allow it.”

“I do not fear death.”

“But you fear Britain’s ruin, don’t you?”

“…”

“Your silence says everything. Here, in my generousness, I have given you renewed life, a place unlike any other for which to live, and my compassionate love. Do not tell me that for you to be happy, you need death and destruction.”

Those honeyed words were the very same as a spider weaving its web for her prey. Arthur knew better than to bow down before someone offering the world to him.

“You are not the first man to love me.”

“Oh? Then let me make a skin rug out of the one who came before me. I will have no competitors.”

After the strain and stress of his entire life leading to this moment, Arthur… laughed. He knew it was a victory in Gilgamesh’s court, but he couldn’t help it, it came from his mouth before he could stop it.

“He’s long dead.”

“A shame, I would have loved to show you the extent of my compassion.” He watched with an amused smirk as Arthur internally scolded himself for laughing, returning to his usual dour look. “Look at you, you do not even allow yourself the briefest moment of happiness when you need it most.”

“I…” Arthur trailed off. “I can’t think of anything else.”

Gilgamesh strode over to him, lifting his chin in his hand and observing closely. Those eyes. Those clear green eyes that stood out beneath his blond bangs. Gilgamesh’s own were unnatural, slitted due to his parenthood, and Arthur felt chills looking into them. Gilgamesh couldn’t get enough—even as Arthur looked away, his eyes were on him like a hawk.

“Let’s remember everything I have promised. Your life, your kingdom, all prosperous and all mine. You have sworn to surrender to me if Gawain is true to his word.”

“… is sex all you care about?”

Gilgamesh was taken aback, offended even. “Do you think that’s the only thing on my mind, you mongrel? I don’t care just about your body, I want your _life_ , already immortal, to be mine. Of course I have my eyes set on you as a lover, but for something I could have from any woman—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Arthur was a bit relieved that ‘that’ wasn’t all Gilgamesh cared about. If he could, he wanted to talk him out of it to begin with. “You were just talking about my body when you first dragged me in…”

“I have reconsidered some things, perhaps.”

“What made you reconsider?”

Gilgamesh’s unreadable expression threw Arthur through a loop. Usually, he was able to guess at what the king was thinking, but not now.

“… are you really considering having me as a ‘bride’?”

“Perhaps. You are one of the few people I could consider close to my level.”

“I’ll never understand you…”

“You had better try. Don’t disappoint me by being obtuse.”

\--

The harsh change of climate wasn’t pleasant. Gawain found himself going from riding shirtless to bundling up quickly.

While he was desperate to leave his captors and almost certain he could fight them off, they had stripped him of his sword and he hadn’t anything to fight them with. They were north of Rome by now, and the cold temperature was starting to get to the men accompanying him. They were foolish to not pack warmer clothing, he thought. How on earth did the army survive in Britain, of all places?

He supposed not all of them were this stupid.

He was starting to recognize the roads he was traveling. The trip was going to take longer than anticipated. He only hoped his king would wait for him. _Please, Arthur_ , he thought to himself. _Don’t give up._

\--

Gilgamesh would leave for long stretches of time, giving Arthur time to speak with Siduri or the other servants who would give him the time of day. Those who weren’t afraid of talking to him were few and far between, but they were there. There were even a few women daring enough to try and flirt with him, whom Arthur quickly rejected. He hadn’t even been thinking of women ever since Guinevere.

He asked to learn Sumerian. Why? Because it was clear to everyone that Arthur wasn’t going to be able to leave any time soon, and he thought bitterly about Gilgamesh’s prediction and considered it might be never. A fastidious king always, he prepared for the worst while hoping for the best.

Things usually came easily to Arthur. Even the hardest tasks promised victory in the end, but nothing was quite so difficult as learning a new language. Even his shoddy ‘hello’s needed work, and it came with the frustration that he felt like he was giving in by learning. Still, he remembered back to when Gilgamesh was showing him off and would freely speak it in front of him. It would be wise to try and understand what he was saying in front of him.

He named the lion that Gilgamesh gave him Ywain. It would follow him dutifully from room to room and sleep at his feet at night. For some reason, it made Arthur feel a little safer.

The only other sanctuary Arthur had was the bath. He’d managed to convince the servants that he could wash himself and let himself soak in the warm, perfumed water away from the world. Occasionally, Gilgamesh would surprise him and join him.

“I forget too often that I have no right to privacy around you…” Arthur rinsed his hair beneath a fountain, keeping his eyes off the king and the servants taking care of him.

“Why do you turn away? Let me look at you—” Gilgamesh pulled away from his servants to take in Arthur’s form, who he hurriedly hid himself from. “Are you still so bashful? Hahaha!”

It bothered Arthur that Gilgamesh didn’t take this whole thing so seriously.

Or maybe he did, and his laughter was just part of his personality. Either way, Gilgamesh was a difficult man to get along with. He would keep promising that everything Arthur wanted, he could have, and Arthur kept saying ‘oh, then set me free.’ They were at a stalemate, unable to move forward. Ishtar’s proposal hadn’t left his mind, but there was no weakness in Gilgamesh that Arthur could exploit.

Slowly, though, Gilgamesh began to talk about himself.

Not himself, though—not quite. He spoke of his best friend, the one that the gods had killed. Arthur could hardly imagine God reaching down and smiting someone in particular out of the biblical age, but he supposed that these were different gods and—oh Lord, forgive him. It was just hard to deny what he could see with his own two eyes. It was difficult not to feel abandoned by his God in a place like Uruk. Like he’d left His territory upon entering.

But that best friend of his… Arthur found himself wishing he were still around. He sounded like someone who could talk sense into Gilgamesh. Maybe he would talk him into letting Arthur go. Arthur couldn’t ask too much about Enkidu, or the king would grow moody and irritable, but he was grateful to take the bits he could. The name Ishtar did indeed come up—as an agent of chaos. Arthur suddenly felt uneasy for speaking with her.

It was another cool night. Gilgamesh had taken to sleeping, and Arthur suddenly heard his lion growl.

Sitting up, he saw a silhouette standing behind the curtain.

“Ishtar…?”

“The one and only. I see you’ve gotten comfortable here…” She looked at him, somewhat disapprovingly.

“I’m _not_ comfortable,” He insisted. “And I—I have nothing to say to you.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I should never have considered having a dealing with a pagan god to begin with. The deal is off. I’ll find my own way out.”

A third voice entered the mix.

“What _deal_?” Gilgamesh practically growled the words, looking from Ishtar to Arthur. Ishtar merely smirked.

“Did you trust this king? He was going to give me dirt on you, but apparently dealing with me is beneath him. All for his freedom! I’d have him killed if I were in your shoes.”

“Shoo. Get out.” Gilgamesh waved her off like she was an irritating gnat and turned to Arthur with a scowl. “Is this true? Did she speak with you before?”

“… Yes. She did. She wanted me to find cracks in your armor.”

“Did you do as she asked?”

“… no. Even against you, it’s against my code to do something so ignoble.”

“…” Gilgamesh was clearly furious, and Arthur subconsciously thought about the circumference of his own neck and what it would be like to be beheaded. Gilgamesh surprised him, though. Slipping his arm around his waist, he yanked his head in place to be kissed, right in front of Ishtar.

“Do you hear that, useless goddess? He won’t even raise a finger against me with the promise of your help. Either he’s smarter than you give him credit for, or he’s realized how important it is to stay on my good side. Leave.”

As soon as Ishtar took her offended departure, Gilgamesh let him go so abruptly that Arthur fell backwards.

“Consorting with her is low, even for a king like you.”

“What choice did you give me?” Arthur snapped. “I wanted a way out of here! I wanted a way home! I wanted—”

“We don’t always _get_ what we want, deposed king.” It seemed Gilgamesh’s cruelty had been renewed. “Have I not been a generous host?”

“No one is talking about your generousness! Would you like to be robbed of your pride and kingdom? Obviously not! You have not once considered what it’s like to be me.” Arthur stood up, furious. “You have only praised yourself for your apparent mercy!”

“Because it _is_ mercy!” Gilgamesh shouted back. “You were to die at the hand of your own bastard! Your foolishness knows no bounds! Are you going to tell me next that you wanted to die? Because it would be more ‘honorable’ for you?”

“Like being treated as the consort of the king who took over my kingdom is any better!” Arthur spat.

“Listen and listen well.” Gilgamesh pointed at Arthur’s chest. “I will not relent. I will not allow fate to pass by me. I will ignore the fact that Ishtar propositioned you for the sheer fact that you thought it _ignoble_ to take her up on her offer, though you should have realized she would never keep her word to begin with.” Gilgamesh seized both of his shoulders and held him in place. “You will wait for Gawain. You will accept my proposal. _I will not be refused_.”

Arthur watched as Gilgamesh threw open the curtain and headed back to bed, clearly angry. Arthur had his own furious feelings to deal with. He was treated like property, like—like he was nothing but a goal for Gilgamesh. His clairvoyance? So what? Still… Still, he had to think of Britain. That was the one string holding everything together for Gilgamesh—Arthur would do anything for Britain’s wellbeing.

He went back into the room to calm himself, stroking the lion’s mane and letting its rumble of a purr quiet his angrily beating heart.


	5. Chapter 5

The anger that Arthur felt lasted for quite a while after.

The next several days, he didn’t speak of his story at all. He knew it annoyed Gilgamesh to be given the silent treatment, but of all things, that kiss annoyed him the most. Bodily showing off to Ishtar that he hadn’t betrayed him—what on Earth had stopped him from helping Ishtar? Well… he wasn’t lying. He thought the idea of sneakily embarrassing Gilgamesh was a dumb idea and the woman didn’t seem trustworthy to begin with. It was just taking a while for his anger to melt off.

Eventually, though, he sat at the side of Gilgamesh’s bed as he usually did to tell his story, and stiffly began. He was finally done with Lancelot’s exploits and could talk now more of Sir Gareth. Gilgamesh didn’t seem too interested, however.

“There’s going to be a feast,” he began, swirling the goblet in his hand. “And I’m going to present you before my guests.”

“What’s there to present? Everyone knows you have me captured.” Arthur stated plainly. He didn’t see the point of going to all the trouble.

“I’m going to present you as my fiancé.”

Arthur scowled. “Gawain’s not here _yet_.”

“I already told you that it doesn’t matter. I know the truth; you merely need to be convinced of it.”

Arthur stood up in irritation. “You’ve barely courted me, and everything you attempt, you force upon me!”

“It’s for your kingdom, is it not? Don’t think I’ll be skipping over your dowry. I’ll shower your kingdom in wealth as payment.”

“As if I can be bought--!”

“You’ve already said as much. For your kingdom, remember?”

Arthur was beginning to curse his own words. Gilgamesh was the irritating sort of person who never forgot anything you said, in the exact way you said it. Arthur said he’d do anything for his kingdom, and to Gilgamesh, that was as good as an ‘I do’. He skipped every step on the way to his conclusion. Never had he met a more infuriating man…!

But… what if he turned this on Gilgamesh? Clearly, his methods up until now hadn’t been working. Maybe cooperation might get the two of them somewhere, as opposed to this embarrassing stalemate.

“… if I cooperate with your feast, will you stop calling me your fiancé? Can we at least be kings discussing kingly matters?”

At first, Arthur thought he’d be met with Gilgamesh’s usual rebuttal, that he was always right and that Arthur had better get used to his position as a bride. However, Gilgamesh considered it and said, “While your status as my fiancé hasn’t changed, I suppose I can relent just a bit. You can be my consort-to-be.”

“… that’s the same thing, isn’t it.”

“It has a bit more dignity to it, don’t you think? You’re no longer simply a bride.”

This might be the best he could get out of Gilgamesh. “Fine… but only so long as you acknowledge nothing is set in stone.”

Gilgamesh cupped his face, smugly. “Rest assured, I will have you just the same as you had the sword in the stone. Immovable by anyone else but me.”

\--

The next day, the whole of Gilgamesh’s court was abuzz with the fact that Gilgamesh would finally be presenting the captured king before an audience. Arthur’s existence was a secret that existed only within the castle walls, privileged knowledge to a select few. No one knew if Arthur would be brought forth in chains or as Gilgamesh’s guest of honor. The more that Arthur overheard of it, the less excited he grew. There was to be food and dance, something he didn’t want to celebrate in the least. There would even be guests from other kingdoms, ones that had heard of Gilgamesh’s ‘engagement’. Arthur had even overheard that one of them would be a king.

Great, Arthur thought. Another person in a high place to observe him being taken in by a conqueror.

“With all the commotion surrounding it, it might as well be a wedding…”

Arthur sat alone in the gardens, cursing every minute he was here and not back home. As antsy as a sheep up for the slaughter, it seemed nothing calmed him down. He noticed by his feet, there was a sparkling, twisting movement.

A snake.

He quickly recognized it—this one was a non-venomous one that belonged to the menagerie. It must have gotten out. He crouched down to pick it up gently, like he was shown how to, and began walking with it. In what felt like appreciation, the snake began to twist up his arm.

“There he is--!” Gilgamesh proudly proclaimed, seeing Arthur cross the hall opposite of his. “Quickly, take him to get cleaned up and changed and—"

He stopped dead in his tracks, gaze pointedly on the snake. Arthur put two and two together.

“Gilgamesh…” For the first time, Arthur’s tone was remarkably soft and kind, hiding the pure malicious joy beneath. “Are you afraid of snakes?”

“N… don’t be ridiculous—but don’t you dare come near me…! Stop! What are you doing?!”

“I thought you’d want to take a walk with your consort-to-be, right?”

“Put that thing down! _Stop_!”

If the deal had still been on with Ishtar, Arthur might’ve found his way out with the stunning revelation that Gilgamesh was absolutely horrified by snakes. At the very least, it chased the king for the time being. There had to be a story to that—but Arthur wouldn’t press his luck. He returned the poor, stressed animal to its place in the menagerie and let it slither back into the plants. He made a mental note to call on it again in the future if it were ever necessary.

\--

The days would drag on and on.

Arthur would tell his stories at night.

They would prepare for the feast during the day.

Arthur no longer knew which day from which. They didn’t use the same calendar. It felt like the way you’d haze someone in prison by not letting them know how long they’d been in there.

It had to have been a week when the party finally started.

\--

Arthur was dressed to his best in a sheer white outfit accompanied with rubies and lapis lazuli around his neck, his fingers, his arms. Gold wrapped around his upper arms in fancy ringlets. They set something like a crown on his head that he couldn’t quite describe and had even gone out of their way to pierce his ears. Arthur was trying to smartly lay low and go along with what he was asked to do. He wanted to admonish himself for enduring the lavish lifestyle, but it couldn’t be helped for now. All he had to do was wait.

Would he ever get Excalibur back?

The thought of it being somewhere in Gil’s treasury was leaving him restless. He couldn’t be trusted with a weapon for good reason, but that sword was more than just an ordinary weapon. It was no wonder Gilgamesh took it so quickly.

It was said that the king that would join them for this occasion, the great Iskandar, was legendary in his own right. He and Gilgamesh were good friends—somehow, despite Iskandar’s predisposition for conquering, they managed to keep each other at bay with a smile.

The hall where it all would be held looked as regal and beautiful as anything Arthur had ever seen. Camelot, in his eyes, was far more so—but perhaps that was because he was homesick. The shimmer of gold touched everything that the light did. This overabundance was in everything. The food, the wine, the entertainers, who were dressed almost as dazzlingly as Arthur, but it seemed nothing was supposed to surpass the look of the guest of honor.

As the festivities began, Arthur had only two instructions; sit by Gilgamesh’s side and look pretty. How he’d love to disobey either of them! The fact that he’d even been permitted a seat next to his throne was quite a big deal, and Arthur hadn’t imagined why. Didn’t his own queen sit at his side? Wait— _don’t think of yourself as a bloody queen_. As guests approached and offered their gifts, Arthur wondered if he’d been tricked into attending his own wedding reception. It wasn’t as if he understood the language to know.

People would stare at him, and he would politely avert his eyes as to not stare back. People from all over really were gawking at him like he was some prize, and it got deeper and deeper beneath his skin. But here, of all places, he’d better not make a scene. After all, he had a mission tonight.

He was going to try and get Excalibur back.

How else by getting on Gilgamesh’s good side? He had to make it so that Gilgamesh trusted him—he was the only one with access to his treasury. He could never return to Britain without it, and that had suddenly become priority number one.

The guests in the room parted for one man in particular—this, Arthur guessed, had to be the king that Gilgamesh promised would arrived. A giant of a man with vivid red hair, Arthur could recognize him by description alone. _Iskandar_ , the king of conquerors. Gilgamesh rose to his feet, and Arthur watched as they approached each other and greeted one another warmly. Like friends.

“Is this him--?” Iskandar looked Arthur’s way, and Gilgamesh nodded.

Arthur expected some form of mockery, or an aside glance that meant he knew that this was a shamed king, deposed from his Kingdom. None of that happened, though. Iskandar laughed and grabbed his hand to shake it, remembering that it was a custom of the north. “So you’re the King of Knights! And Gilgamesh says that you are his consort, yes? Fascinating! I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years and I doubt I ever will again!”

“It’s my pleasure,” Arthur managed to retain his composure, not wanting to stammer in front of this imposing presence. “I am only sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”

“Better circumstances? What’s better than something like this, eh?” Not catching the hint in his voice, Arthur decided to let it drop. “Now then! I’ve brought the finest wine there is to offer as a gift. Where shall I put it?”

“Iskandar, if I know you, you’ll be tasting my finest reserves tonight and feel ashamed of what you brought,” Gilgamesh bragged so blatantly that Arthur wondered if it would be taken as an insult—but the rapport between them seemed like that of old friends. “But leave it within my halls. I’m sure we’ll have use for it.”

It wasn’t long for the party to fall underway.

Arthur couldn’t believe how noisy it was, with servants constantly coming to refill his wine glass, put food in front of him despite his lacking appetite, and how … happy everyone seemed. He felt like the odd man out, the only one who didn’t have something to celebrate. It dawned on him that the nature of his surrender might be a secret—no, it must have been.

He waited for the party to wind down, but it seemed like it never did—until he caught Gilgamesh’s glance and motioned to him.

“Could we speak… alone…?”

“In the middle of this? What do you have to say that can’t be said here?”

“It’s important,” Arthur pleaded. “Please?”

Gilgamesh flashed a knowing smirk to the guests seated close to him and stood up, taking Arthur by the wrist to a balcony off to the side.

“Well?” Gilgamesh asked, crossing his arms. “What do you want? I’d like to get back as soon as possible—”

Arthur considered his options. Listening to the beautiful music come in from the other hallway gave him an idea. “You don’t dance at your parties?”

“I am a king, people dance for my entertainment.”

“But you’ve never danced yourself?”

“Never.”

Arthur smiled and tutted, as if he knew something Gilgamesh didn’t. Gilgamesh looked curious.

“…?”

“It’s just that, I would have loved to dance with you tonight.”

That was unexpected. Was Arthur finally starting to appreciate his generosity, and wanted to repay it? The custom seemed unusual—yet—

“For a place as unlively as your homeland, I would have never guessed you danced, either.”

Arthur offered his hand. “Then may I show you? How we dance in Britain.”

Gilgamesh looked taken aback at his gesture, before hurrying over to the balcony’s curtains and drawing them closed so that no onlookers would see any missteps. Only then would he take Arthur’s hand.

“Very well,” He said, impassively. “Impress me.”

Knowing Gilgamesh wouldn’t agree to anything he could possibly fail at, he began with the simplest of court dances, taking his hand and remaining in step as he bowed to him, keeping in line to the tune of music he didn’t know too well. Realizing that this formal dance would never get them close enough, Arthur then opted to put his hand on his waist.

“This one isn’t terribly popular yet, but if you’ll indulge me—”

He lead him in a slow dance, with their faces close and bodies closer—the closest they had ever been. It had been weeks since Arthur had been kicked down to kneel before him, and now he was leading him in a dance only couples shared.

Gilgamesh was staring at him with an unreadable gaze, as if waiting for Arthur to do something spectacular, but quietly he realized this closeness was Arthur’s goal. His incredibly simple (yet incredibly potent) seduction of the king.

“…”

Arthur parted from him just a little too soon, but to make up for it, he had kissed the back of Gilgamesh’s hand in yet another tradition that was somewhat foreign to him.

“That’s all I wanted to show you,” Arthur said, quietly. “The _proper_ way you court someone where I live.”

“Hmph…” Gilgamesh stared at him, not wanting Arthur to know he’d been impressed. That closeness that he craved from the other king, he’d only gotten a taste of it just now. He’d seen a side of Arthur he’d been demanding to ever since he knew of him.

“What is it you want, King of Knights?”

Damn it. Seen through as transparently as water.

“…”

“Out with it.”

“…”

“Then I’ll guess. Is this what you want?”

From the golden glow of his treasury, Gilgamesh pulled out the hilt of Excalibur. He looked it over as if it was just a sword, not _the_ sword to end all swords, and suddenly he pulled it back.

“You’re not getting this without me getting something I want.”

“I… don’t have anything to offer.”

“You do. And I want to _see you_ offer it.”

Arthur stepped forward, exhaling before seizing Gilgamesh in a kiss. Not on the forehead, nor on the cheek. He let the king of Uruk drink his fill of his lips, let him delve deep into his mouth and taste him properly. He didn’t rush him and didn’t pull away in disgust. As Gilgamesh parted from him, he dropped Excalibur at his feet before wordlessly returning back to the party, throwing the curtain open with an air of triumph that Arthur knew came at his expense. But so long as he had the holy sword back, he didn’t care.

He held it close to him like an old friend.

\--

Arthur would pardon himself from the party to the safe confines of Gilgamesh’s room, holding the holy sword within his hand, fearful as though it might disappear if he let go. This was the first act of real mercy that Gilgamesh had given him—one he didn’t have to spare and one that would make Arthur a threat. He simply had to trust that Arthur would trust Gawain, and trust in his promise that he wanted to keep Arthur alive _and_ save Britain. If he held that trust, Arthur would not raise his sword against him.

Though the night dragged on, Arthur didn’t sleep until Gilgamesh entered the room once more.

“You’re still awake.”

“… I wanted to see you before I slept.”

“Are you coming to your senses, Arthur? Such affection from you is unprecedented.”

“On the contrary, I want you to come to your senses.”

“Hmm?”

“If you wish to court me, you should set me free.”

“Haha! Hahaha! Are you actually serious? Is that the key to your heart—letting you run away?”

“It is the only way, and you know it. We will never be equals if I am your prisoner.”

“… I refuse to let you die. Going to your homeland would be the same as sending you to death. I won’t allow that to pass.”

“Then that kiss is the extent of all you’ll get from me.”

“Hmph--! We’ll see.”

But it seemed that was all the argument that Gilgamesh had left in him for the night. He quickly took to his bed to rest, as Arthur sat with his sword, laying it gently at his side as he got ready to finally sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur had regained his confidence with Excalibur back, and Gilgamesh was appreciating the change.

Rarely, if ever, did the sword leave his side. He would carry it on his hip with a chain of gold to link it there, and impressively—he didn’t use it against anyone at all. He was completely content, confident that he could defend himself if need be, and that was all he needed to trust Gilgamesh’s word that much more. Arthur would walk the halls proudly with Ywain at his side, feeling more like a king than a prisoner. There was only one problem, though.

That kiss he had given Gilgamesh in exchange for the sword left that man hungry for more.

Gilgamesh had been redoubling his efforts to seduce him. Arthur remained as noncompliant and refusing as ever, but the fact that Gilgamesh wanted him and wanted him badly remained a topic he constantly had to dance around.

The slightly taller man would slip his hands around his waist (too dangerously close to his sword, he thought) and rest his chin on his shoulder like a lovesick dove. Arthur was quick to dive out of his arms, if only to preserve his own dignity. The more he thought about Gilgamesh’s offer—the preservation of his kingdom, the protection of his people, that even his knights could walk free—the more it seemed too good to be true. Arthur may not have had so many options if he were on his own.

Indeed, he might have been slain by Mordred by now, if Gilgamesh was telling the truth.

The very hope that he could reunite Britain again, even if under another banner, had made him a bit kinder towards Gilgamesh’s advances, but one thing remained true. So long as he wasn’t free, he would never become his equal, and Arthur could never love him. He was never shy to remind Gilgamesh of that, who simply grew frustrated each time he heard it.

“If—and this is a big ‘if’—I let you go, what would make you return? Not only would you die, but you’d have a kingdom falling apart to deal with.”

“You would have my word on my honor as a king.”

That alone was enough to make Gil laugh, even if all it got was a pointed stare from Arthur. “It’s true—If it’s as you say, and you wish to rebuild Britain with your own forces and your condition is my… betrothal… then I will have no other choice but to accept your offer. I must think of my people first before I ever think of myself.”

“And what do you think for yourself?” Gilgamesh asked, suddenly. “Is there no part of me you’re attracted to of your own free will? Be honest.”

Arthur thought back to the kiss just momentarily, and the rush that accompanied it. “I… kings don’t have that luxury to consider. We marry for power, for the safety of those beneath us.”

Gilgamesh made the most disgruntled noise. “So you won’t give me an honest answer because you’re ashamed to. Got it.”

Arthur didn’t dignify it with an answer, but Gilgamesh didn’t fail to notice the hint of red staining his cheeks. He had more sway over him than he might’ve thought. Besides, the fact that he had to offer his body to the king was now off the table—they were communicating as near equals now, and the cruel side Gilgamesh had shown him when they met in his throne room was nothing more than a declaration of intent. It was still not the most polished way to greet a king, but Arthur was just glad for the change in demeanor.

He still wouldn’t sleep in his bed, though.

\--

The sight that greeted Gawain when he returned to Britain was more than a little confusing.

It seemed Gilgamesh had told the truth.

As he rode into town, graves had since been dug for fallen British soldiers and were being patrolled by Uruk soldiers so that scavengers wouldn’t dig them up. The people seemed wary of the foreign warriors, and of course, many were grieving, but the mood of Camelot was less dire than he anticipated. Though there was a language barrier between them, it seemed all malice was left on the battlefield.

“Gilgamesh’s orders were that any Uruk man seen mistreating someone in Camelot would be beheaded,” said one of the soldiers to his side.

“And they obeyed?”

“We’re loyal to our king. No one would dare disobey him and give him reason to carry out that threat.”

“Take me to the castle, at once.”

\--

The report Gawain received was shocking.

Farmers were allowed to continue to farm, workers were allowed to keep their businesses flowing. They were united under Uruk’s banner, and the word that got back was that so long as King Arthur cooperated with him, nothing would change. Their soldiers would be buried with honors, their sick and injured tended to. Doctors who had accompanied their army had been mending broken bones and injuries along with the ones in Camelot.

(Though the philosophy of the four humors had been abruptly dismissed, as were the use of leeches.)

“Why would a conqueror order such mercy…”

“I’ll tell you why…!” It was none other than Mordred, storming into the hall where Gawain was receiving his report. “It’s because Gilgamesh wants the king and nothing else! He wants _father_!”

“Hold on, you’re not actually serious—these men told me on the way here of Gilgamesh’s fascination with King Arthur. That’s true? I was anticipating being beheaded in front of Camelot. I hadn’t the time or the humor to even guess that they were telling the truth.”

“Tch…! They’ve had me locked up forever. Only because I’d kill every bastard from Uruk I could get my hands on! But they told me you were coming and I promised I’d behave… and they stripped me of my weapons.”

“To be honest, you don’t seem any less dangerous without them—”

Mordred only grinned, though the smile seemed lethal on their lips. “So what’s the plain, Gawain? You’re not going to accept the plan of conquerors, are you?”

“… I— have orders to return to Uruk and tell the King what I saw.” He turned to the nearest soldier who spoke English and began to interrogate. “I want to be taken to the east and south to make sure that everything is fine there. And when we’re done, we can begin the journey back.”

“Wait—wait, you can’t be serious! They have father captive! We’re not going to let him blemish his honor by—”

The truth was, whatever was weighing on Arthur’s mind was weighing on Gawain’s as well. With the recent falling out with Lancelot, the knights of the round table might be done for, and Camelot’s fall was sure to follow. He despised his captors as much as anyone could, but if he were given the choice to save Britain and cooperate or fight until his dying breath—he’d fight, but that might not be Arthur’s choice. Arthur loved nothing more than his kingdom.

“I will wait for my King’s word. Right now, I am the only honest voice in his world. Come, let’s get going.”

Mordred stewed in pure, violent anger, one that had been cooking beneath the surface for as long as they’d been in chains in the dungeon.

They’d need to find a sword, soon.

\--

“Tell me of Guinevere.”

The hair on Arthur’s neck bristled. “Surely, you don’t intend to emulate her—”

“Of course not. I merely wish to know what she did that I’m somehow failing to do.”

Arthur sighed.

“She was… a kind and righteous woman. I married her because she was a natural leader, virtuous and kind. It turned out she was only one of those things.”

“… you didn’t truly want to execute her, did you?”

Arthur shook his head. “I had no time to be a proper husband to her. If I hadn’t married her, I would have given Lancelot my blessing. But a king must set an example. They cannot be lied to or deceived by those they trust most.”

“Your hidden cruelty fascinates me. Of course, a king has no other choice.” Gilgamesh gave pause. “And… your opinion of me? Has it changed any since I made you kneel?”

“You’d do well not to constantly remind me of that, for one.”

“Fine then, since we’ve met. How have I changed in your eyes?”

“You are… more competent a ruler than I gave you credit for,” Arthur began. “Your people love you, others who would conquer you call you a friend. I’ve heard the tales of your conquests from everyone around me. They all say you used to be such a different person. Cruel for the sake of cruel. And I still see hints of that in your eyes. You still wish to call a prisoner your consort. Do you know nothing of earning what should be yours?”

“That’s high and mighty talk from someone who still paid a dowry for their bride.”

“But she was _willing_ ,” Arthur insisted. “I would think you’d want the same from me. Isn’t it better for your pride if you don’t have someone in chains walking by your side?”

Gilgamesh looked displeased, but thoughtful. “You understand I can do nothing until Gawain returns.”

“… I do understand that much.”

The rest of their walk went in relative silence, through the long halls of Gilgamesh’s palace on the way back to their mutually shared room. The open windows let in the light of the clear blue sky as the sun set with marvelous pinks and oranges painted on the horizon. Arthur couldn’t help but think this place—all of it—was truly beautiful. Gilgamesh enshrouded himself with art, not just real art but the art of the world, the culinary arts, and even the art of battle. Not a moment of his life was spent without beauty.

“Gilgamesh.”

“Yes?”

“If all of this works out in your favor… will you simply discard me when you grow bored of me?”

“Hmph. What a stupid question.”

“Is it, though?”

Gilgamesh turned to him with a serious expression, the crease of his brows making it more and more apparent that he was annoyed with Arthur.

“Would I go this far to chase away my boredom? Do you really think that, Arthur?”

“I just question if this is what you’d really do for someone you loved, or someone you wanted as a prize.”

“Some things in life are beautiful because you can’t obtain them. You, Arthur, are the very definition of that—that’s why I’m fighting with everything I can to make sure you stay in this world. I will die a bitter man if Mordred’s sword finds your belly.”

Arthur was taken by surprise. “Then… you really are considering letting me go.”

“…”

“Gilgamesh, I have a proposition.”

“Oh? This is a first. Out with it.”

“Come with me.”

Gilgamesh did nothing but balk at him. “ _What_?”

“Come with me to Camelot. You don’t have to stay. But if you really want to protect me, don’t you want to come along?”

“The nerve of you!” Gilgamesh laughed, putting his hand to his eyes. “Thinking I can abandon my position just to chase after you and protect you! I am not the knight in shining armor you have decided to be! I am a king! You are no more than—”

“I am also a king, and here I am, not raising my blade against you for kidnapping me and not fighting you for the sake of my kingdom. If I leave and Mordred kills me, where does that leave you?”

“…” Gilgamesh considered it, bitterly. It was true that he didn’t trust a single one of his men to protect Arthur properly. That he wouldn’t trust his own prophecy not to unfold unless he was there to witness its unraveling with his own eyes. Try as he might to ignore it, Arthur’s proposition was the only one that made any sense. His selfishness was at war with itself, trying to decide if he wanted to get his way more than he wanted Arthur to truly and sincerely become his.

“… all roads lead back to me, Arthur. I keep you here, you become mine. I go with you to assure your kingdom will be in good hands, you’ll become mine. If I have my army lift your kingdom on its back to make sure it stays together, you will be mine. There is no ending here where I set you free and you sit alone on your throne of a broken Britain.”

“… I understand that, now. At least, if Gawain gets back and tells me all that you’ve told me.”

Gilgamesh stepped in closer to Arthur, slipping a hand around his waist as the other king stiffened. “Then sooner or later you’re going to have to sleep in my bed. I don’t understand why you won’t get used to it now.”

“Be… because you could still be lying. Because no one has returned yet and—”

“But you’re beginning to trust me. I can tell. And if you trust me…” Gilgamesh turned him to face him, one hand on his shoulder while the other stayed on his waist. “… is it so bad to give into me? Let’s say your doubts are real, and I’m lying. Why have I gone this far and yet been so patient for my own men to return?”

Arthur couldn’t look in his eyes, his gaze turned to the ground to the side of him.

“Why would I return your sword?”

“I…”

“Because I like seeing your confidence. I like seeing you act like a king, because that is what you are.”

“You’ve done nothing but call me a deposed king since I got here.”

Gilgamesh gave a small ‘heh’. “It wasn’t until I gave you that sword back that I realized I prefer your regal self to the one I had sleeping on the sofa in my room, waiting in desperation for word from home.”

“Gilgamesh, you’re incorrigible. All of this so that you can get me in your bed.”

“It’s strange even to me, you know. I’ve never felt the need to earn someone’s approval. People need to get that from me. And yet… the idea of chains on your body leaves a distaste in my mouth.”

“Are you going to accept, then…?” Arthur asked, tentatively. “Will you set me free if you come with me to Camelot?”

“Will you marry me if I do?”

“…” Gilgamesh was right. All roads did lead back to him, by the situation he created around himself. There was no way out, and Arthur was beginning to consider…

“I –” Arthur swallowed. “I can promise you nothing until Gawain gets back. I’m sorry.”

It disappointed Gilgamesh, but it seemed like he didn’t expect anything less. He let go of Arthur and began walking down the hallway on his own, letting the king behind him catch up at his own pace.

\--

Mordred waited for no one.

Fighting their way into the armory, they had managed to steal back their precious sword, as well as a horse. Finding a ferry would be hard, but Mordred was high of rank and left an impression—be threatening enough, and they could find their way to Uruk on horseback no matter how long or hard the travels were. With nothing but a pack of provisions, they set out of the castle, dodging arrows fired after them.

They could threaten someone into giving them directions, maybe corner a soldier from Uruk and make it clear that it was their life or be a guide.

No one was going to take Arthur as a consort or bride or whatever while Mordred was around.

They’d made a mistake in letting them live. Mordred would be sure they’d regret it.

\--

Gawain had finished patrolling the land, seeing it more or less at peace after the battles. Commoners had returned to their work and the economy was thriving with the riches that the army of Uruk shared with the locals in exchange for food and lodging. He hated to say it, but the unrest that had plagued Camelot before this siege had eased somewhat. No one was happy to have a foreign army around, but they had been merciful in letting anyone who’d laid down their sword live.

“I’ve seen enough,” Gawain said, finally. “Take me back to Uruk.”

It was then that a soldier finally rode up to them. “Mordred has escaped! They took their sword, a horse and vanished!”

The peace that Gawain had just seen, he envisioned shattering the moment Mordred rode up to the palace in Uruk.

“There’s no time to waste,” He exclaimed. “We have to stop Mordred before they get there. Let’s get going!”


	7. Chapter 7

No one knew a thing of Mordred’s arrival. They were swift and silent, moving through countries on horseback fueled only by the anger that Arthur might belong to a foreign king.

Arthur had always held Mordred’s fascination with a burning intensity even the Knights of the Round Table didn’t understand. Their lineage a precious secret, their status as a homunculi-like being even more preciously guarded, Mordred never inherited their mother’s hatred for Arthur. Rather, they held an obsession that no one could hold a candle to, not even Gilgamesh. If Gilgamesh would siege a country for Arthur’s sake, Mordred would light fire to their own.

The only thing ringing in their ears was the hoofbeat of their horse’s gallop and the sword at their side, promising to imbed itself into one of the two—Gilgamesh, for taking him away, or Arthur, for forsaking them.

\--

Arthur found himself sitting on Gilgamesh’s bed with no stories to tell.

He tried to wrack his brain for something, anything, a battle he had missed, a stone left unturned, but there was nothing. Gilgamesh knew all of him now, and that was a very vulnerable feeling to feel. To think he’d started recounting his legend just to distract the king—but now he had nothing to distract him with.

He had so much to think about. His kingdom, his people. Gawain. What if he died on the trip back? What if Gilgamesh’s soldiers hadn’t obeyed his words? So many things could go wrong during a war, and Arthur wasn’t counting on everything turning out as right as Gilgamesh said it would. Pressing also was the issue that…

… That Gilgamesh had charisma that Arthur was starting to be drawn to.

He was still alone, but the kiss he’d given him was still on his mind. It was just a trade for Excalibur, but there was experience there that Arthur hadn’t had before that… look, Britain was a very reserved country that kept affection mostly in the bedroom, in love letters, and in very proper courtship. He’d been tasting the pleasures of Uruk in more ways than one and to think that Gilgamesh had the experience that—no, no, he couldn’t go down this path. A virtuous king shouldn’t travel down roads he couldn’t return from.

Earlier in the day, he’d passed children running through the castle as they played. He asked Siduri if they were Gilgamesh’s and she said yes. So he did have children, albeit young ones. He didn’t ask who the mother was—or who the mothers were.

 _Don’t think about it_ , Arthur ordered himself. Don’t think about him spending time in another person’s bed, if he was the type only out for his own pleasure or not.

Gilgamesh entered, saw him sitting on the side of his bed, and gave a soft chuckle. “Are you going to tell me more of your legend today? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you sitting there.”

Arthur’s mouth went dry. “I… no, I have nothing else to tell you.”

“Well? Exile yourself to your sofa, then, with your precious sword.”

It was clear he was joking, but Arthur didn’t move. Gilgamesh cocked his head in a curious fashion.

“Is something the matter, King of Knights? It’s rare to see you tongue-tied. Where’s your admonishment?”

“I keep thinking about what you’ve been telling me all this time.” He admitted. “About how ‘all roads lead to you’ and what you call inevitable. I’m starting to realize I don’t… hate it as much as I should.”

Arthur was opening doors that Gilgamesh had been waiting for this entire time. Taking a seat next to him, he was tempted to tilt his face towards his so he could see that bashful expression as he spoke.

“Why should you hate it?”

“Because you’re still the man who seized my kingdom, no matter what the reason was. Even if it was to save my own life. I mean…” Arthur rubbed his forehead as if fighting off the headache that had been plaguing him this entire time. “You made me kneel. You had my men in chains. You admitted yourself that some of them are dead. How can I forgive you?”

“It’s clear you’re tempted to, though. Why?”

“Because… I want to save my home. Because if you had the foresight to see me fall in battle and see my kingdom crumble, and you took action… how much can I hate you? You’re vexing, Gilgamesh. I can’t decide if you’re my enemy or my ally.”

“We can’t change the facts,” Gilgamesh added slyly. “Everything I’ve told you is true. You’ve no doubt heard the whispers of such around the castle, haven’t you?”

“I have…”

“So I ask you, in a situation that is neither black or white, why won’t you listen to what you want? Why is it about the principle and not what’s in front of you? For example, you may resent someone who wants your forgiveness. Even if the kind thing to do is forgive them, does that mean you have to? You are allowed to hold onto whatever emotion you deem fit. A king is not above his own feelings. Instead of ignoring them, you should keenly pay attention to them. They are the deciding factor, after all.”

“Gilgamesh…”

“Is resistance until the bitter end what you really desire, Arthur? Or is it just what you think your station demands?”

Gilgamesh finally gave into the temptation of cupping Arthur’s cheek, turning him to face him.

“What do you _want_ , Arthur? I’ll move mountains to give it to you.”

Gilgamesh leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t exactly what Arthur wanted, his pride still beckoned him to shove Gilgamesh away, but his instincts demanded he test the king for all he was worth. He wanted to see how far Gilgamesh would go, what the future might entail for him, and he was met with the warmest reception possible. Drunk on the sensation that he finally got what he wanted, Gilgamesh kissed back feverously, holding his head with both hands and showing just what experience and time had taught him.

Arthur knew chaste kisses to the forehead and hand, slightly deeper behind closed doors and nothing else. He knew making love to his wife in an almost embarrassingly tender way. He knew nothing of the slick heat of Gilgamesh’s mouth, he didn’t understand why he reacted the way he did when those hands slid down his waist and slipped beneath the silk fabric covering half his torso. He desperately fought for control as Gilgamesh did the same.

His back met the soft sheets beneath him in no time, though. Gilgamesh had pushed him over with such ease it was like making a cat roll over. The king above him wasted no time, not since the unspoken permission between them to continue—the sweet taste of wine on his tongue was not lost on him, like he was getting drunk off him all the same.

Gilgamesh had a mission, and that was to not squander this opportunity, this one time where Arthur showed his want. He pressed kisses to his throat and left bruises that even high-necked jewelry wouldn’t cover and Gilgamesh wouldn’t present him with any to try. He wanted everyone to know that Arthur had graduated from a prisoner to a lover, as his breath hitched beneath him, as his fingers teased his skin.

Arthur dragged him back up into a proper kiss, perhaps because that was all he knew, and he wanted to take some direction in this. Gilgamesh obliged as Arthur turned him over so that his back was to the bed, enjoying the worship and the very meticulous care Arthur put into his kisses. So this was how the queen of Britain was worshipped before her infidelity? Excellent, if inexperienced, if unadventurous, it was like a dessert with only three ingredients that still tasted divine.

“Wait,” Arthur breathed, as Gilgamesh pulled him down for more. “Wait.”

“Are you having doubts?” Gilgamesh’s smile was so sharp it could cut someone, wanting and waiting for more.

“I… I can’t go further than this.”

“Why not?”

“I promised myself. I promised you.”

“Nothing until Gawain…” Gilgamesh responded, trailing off. “But if you can’t go further than this, let us at least keep the pace with what we’re doing _now_.”

Arthur had no time to argue as Gilgamesh dragged him down, down with him, down into a hole he might never climb out of.

Gilgamesh talked about seeing the world in black and white and he implied that it might not be so uncomfortable to exist in the greys. That emotion was a ruler as much as his own kingliness, and that he was undeniably attracted to Gilgamesh, even if he wasn’t sure he understood or trusted him. Those words could have just been to seduce him, and if they were, he loathed to admit that they worked.

\--

Gawain was racing against time and odds to beat Mordred to the punch.

How long had the trip from Uruk to Britain been? A week and a half, and they had been hurrying. Nothing would slow Mordred down, they could make it there in a week without having to wait for anyone else. They sent messengers ahead to warn them, but at the speed they were going, it was hard to tell if they were going to beat them to the punch or not. Mordred could ruin the entire thing all for Arthur, Britain _would_ crumble if it hadn’t before. They could be in even worse trouble than what was already starting to unfold.

If Gawain could intercept Mordred, that could save them all.

He just had to have faith in his steed, his speed, and his sword.

\--

If Gilgamesh had been tenacious before, nothing compared to what he was like when Arthur relented just a bit. Give an inch, and Gilgamesh took miles.

Arthur had asked for his armor back, but Siduri told him she didn’t know where it had been taken, and Gilgamesh insisted it would be too much to wear in this heat _anyway_ , why bother? The truth was, Arthur wanted to hide the telltale marks of necking on his body, but Gilgamesh would allow no such thing. If he left the room, he drew the stares of dozens of people, people who now knew Gilgamesh’s conquest was complete (or well, almost). It felt like the nice clothing Gilgamesh had given him was a secret trap lying in wait for the day Arthur kissed him.

He still hadn’t fully understood why he did.

Physicality, he guessed, was one part of it. He was devoid of touch and in a lonely place, and Gilgamesh had offered and offered and offered. Gilgamesh himself was an attractive man, too—even with that cruel sneer of his, his charisma seemed to command anyone’s attention.

It meant nothing if Gawain came back and it was all a lie. If he came and told the truth, it was going to be a part of Arthur’s life. In that sense, he could justify it as preparing for the future.

But he knew all justifications fell flat in the face of what Gilgamesh told him; he had wanted it, so he’d done it.

Gilgamesh would work as a king and now permitted Arthur to stay by his side through the proceedings. In the little of Sumerian that Arthur understood, he learned that Gilgamesh was diligent in this task if nothing else. He would still taunt him though, irritatingly, patting his lap as if Arthur had the lack of pride to sit in it. He would pointedly turn his head and stare away from him, giving the king a good laugh for his effort.

“Your majesty—”

“Yes?” Gilgamesh seemed bored, leafing through scrolls that reported military operations in the north.

“A Knight of the Round Table is at the gate.”

Arthur stood up immediately. “Gawain--!”

“—he’s attacking every guard on sight.”

“What…?”

“It’s a soldier in red and silver armor. We don’t think it’s Gawain, he’s unaccompanied—”

“Mordred…” Arthur’s voice fell.

Without another word, Arthur rushed to leave the meeting room, the castle, with Excalibur at his side as Gilgamesh shouted after him and to his guards.

“Arthur, STOP— are you mongrels out of your mind? After him! Stop him before he reaches the gate!”

Gilgamesh pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “So it’s come to this. Very well—let us take fate by the horns!”

\--

Mordred had slaughtered every guard that approached them, swinging their sword so deftly that even when their horse was attacked and themselves dismounted, it was only a minor hindrance. Arthur had ran as fast as he could’ve, but he couldn’t outpace the soldiers who’d been assigned to capture him. It was just at the gate as they grabbed his arms, holding him back.

“Mordred--!” Arthur shouted through the bars, drawing their attention. “Mordred, you can’t--!”

“Father!” The relief and anger intermixed in their voice. “Father, you’re okay!”

“Mordred, you have to stop!”

“These people stole you away, Father! I could never relent!”

“You’ll have to.”

A voice came from above on the parapets. Arthur knew it immediately.

“Gilgamesh, please… give them a chance to talk—”

Gilgamesh’s voice was cruel in response. “They slaughter my men and you want me to play nice? Where is Gawain?!”

“Gawain? That traitor said he’d be here for your sake, Arthur, but I beat him to it! Listen to me! Come back, don’t accept whatever this man has offered! I won’t let you go, not to anyone!”

Arthur had known of his possessive side, but this… and calling him ‘father’, as well?

“Gilgamesh, you have foresight…” He trailed off. “What does he mean by ‘father’?”

“It’s just as I told you. This is your bastard.”

“That’s impossible! He’s far too old for that to even be true!”

“An artificial being created by an enemy of yours… I don’t care for the details. Arthur, look upon the face of the person destined to kill you.”

The Gates of Babylon opened, and a weapon rushed out to knock the helmet off of Mordred’s face. Arthur had seen it many times before, but the resemblance—he’d chalked it up to something else, but…

“Is this true, Mordred?” His voice shook.

“Look at you…” Mordred snarled. “You’re marked all over. He’s laid his hands on you, hasn’t he? I won’t accept this! I won’t accept Britain uniting under another banner, I won’t accept Father becoming some man’s consort, I won’t if I have to kill him to stop it from happening—”

“You won’t have to.”

A sword, well aimed, fired from the Gates of Babylon and pierced Mordred’s armor, straight through the chest.

“MORDRED!” Arthur cried out. He broke free of his guard’s hold on him and rushed toward the gate, only to see Mordred fall to their knees, spitting blood on the ground. “Lower the gates! Please! Do it now!”

Gilgamesh took his time walking down the steps from the parapets, fully dressed in his gold armor. He faced Arthur and gestured to the dying knight before them, just paces away, separated by an iron gate. “This is what happens when something comes between me and what’s mine. You heard them yourself. Gawain was coming to tell you what I already knew. They said they would kill you to stop it from happening… are you still merciful?”

Arthur said nothing. Not even able to save one of his own knights. Even one that had been destined to kill him. And this had been his child, too? Or at the very least, some form of offspring?

“Please… open the gate.”

“And give them the chance to stab you in their dying breath? As if I can let a future I can see clear as day come to pass.”

Arthur could do nothing but hold the bars of the gate and sink to his knees as Mordred collapsed and spilled blood onto the sandy stone beneath their body.

“Are you satisfied with what you’ve learned, Arthur? Everything I’ve said, it was true all along.”

“…”

“You’ll forgive me in time, I’m sure. Guards? Take Arthur back to the palace. Make sure the fallen knight’s body is taken care of—and of course, our men, too.”

\--

“Killing him wasn’t sparing my life. You could have taken him in with those chains of yours.”

Gilgamesh fixed him in a stare as Arthur refused to look at him.

“It would have delayed the inevitable. An escape, a plot hatched and you would be dead. I have freed you from the shackles of your own destiny. King Arthur was meant to lay dying as he entrusted a sword to one of his fellow knights to return to the Lady of the Lake.”

“This… this doesn’t feel like freedom.”

“Oh?”

“Gilgamesh, free me.”

“Hah! As if I would—”

“If you are going to _get anything_ from me, anymore, it will be as a free man, able to make my own choices.”

“… I thought you would do anything for the sake of Britain.”

“I will. But I cannot do anything for them as your captive.”

“Swear it.” Gilgamesh closed the distance between them, face to face. “Swear you will be mine and I will grant everything you could wish for, including your freedom. On your honor as a knight.”

It took Arthur a moment to answer. The anger from Mordred’s death was still raw, fresh in his mind. He wanted to do anything to spite this man, but even with their death, nothing had changed.

“I swear.”

“Then it’s done.”

Arthur exhaled. “I want my armor back. I want the first horse you can prepare for me so I can ride to Britain.”

“I’m going with you.”

“… what?”

Gilgamesh crossed his arms. “Did you not suggest that yourself? Besides, I will not let you go to Britain alone. If you are mine, I’m not going to let you return to your kingdom without my help and my orders delivered to _my_ men.” Gilgamesh tilted his head upward, sneering slightly. “But as soon as everything is settled, we’ll return here, where you will marry me.”

“Whatever you want…” Arthur sighed, relenting. “… We ride tonight.”

“You don’t even want to give me the time to celebrate my victory, do you?”

“The wound is still fresh. I wouldn’t poke it.”

“Hmph! Fine. If that’s what my betrothed wants… who am I to deny him?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around!

“What a waste.”

Ishtar stood over Mordred’s body as it lay waiting to be buried, the heat already gone from their flesh. Ishtar tapped their cheek. This one was brave enough to fight Gilgamesh without hesitation. And as she’d learned listening over people in the castle, Arthur had accepted Gilgamesh’s proposal. The gods had punished him once. Ishtar was not satisfied yet. Now that he’d found happiness with someone, no matter how reluctant they were, she wanted to interfere.

She hadn’t forgotten Arthur’s disrespect, either.

“I’ll be speaking to Ereshkigal,” She whispered over their body. “She owes me a favor, and I think I know exactly what I want.”

When the soldiers came back to bury the body, they found it was gone, the sword that pierced their armor laying in its place.

\--

Arthur felt comfortable in the silver and blues of his homeland, the armor he’d been captured in had since been polished and looked good as new. He finally felt like himself, no jewelry on him and he wouldn’t dare tell Gilgamesh of the tradition of wearing a wedding band. No one needed to look at his hand and see one. He was hesitant to even admit it to the first person he saw from home.

There was a good chance they’d meet Gawain on the road to Britain, and he could get the full story. He wanted a good explanation as to why Mordred’s parentage was hidden from him—it couldn’t be Guinevere’s child, there was no time she was pregnant at all. Magic had to be involved, but how. Gilgamesh was being irritatingly vague in answering him.

“What does it matter? They’re gone.”

“… I’m not happy with you.”

“They were going to take your life!”

“They were my _child_ ,” Arthur emphasized. “And I was conscious of that fact for only a few seconds before you killed them!”

“Hmph. You sound upset…”

“I obviously am! Nobody asked you to kill them, and… and they were someone who served me to the best of their ability! They crossed the path here just to save me!”

“If only you could see what I see… passing Excalibur to Bedivere who would fail to return it to the lake twice—”

“I don’t care what you can see. I know you could change the future without murder.”

“…” Gilgamesh thought for a moment, knowing that prophecies set in stone were usually true. Even though Mordred had been slain, could there still be a chance that Arthur would fall in Camelot? He was a selfish man, he wanted Arthur to himself, and he would change fate time and time again. However, there was a ripple caused by changing his own fate that could affect history—but to a man like Gilgamesh, who claimed all treasures were his, fate was merely a tool to use to his advantage.

He would not surrender Arthur, especially after getting his answer.

Arthur had only given his word for the excuse to get back to Camelot. He knew that there was no other choice, but he wasn’t thrilled with his own decision either. Sacrifices had to be made. The closeness they had shared before, Arthur would not give back, and Gilgamesh had somewhat expected it.

They were given horses, provisions, and a whole slew of guards to guide them. There was both a rise in his heart and a sinking feeling. Arthur was returning to Camelot, just chained in a different way. He mounted his horse and took a good look at the gates outside of Uruk. Before, he had been dragged into them. Now he was leaving them with its King at his side.

\--

Gilgamesh wouldn’t stop flitting his eyes to Arthur’s form, riding silently on the horse. Was this the man that kissed him so willingly? Perhaps it wasn’t willingly but giving in to curiosity as to what to expect in the future. If that was the case, Gilgamesh was irritated. Arthur was only allowing Gilgamesh space to prepare himself for the future, like it was his duty. Arthur may never love Gilgamesh the way Gilgamesh clearly valued him.

“Britain is cold, isn’t it?”

“If you’re used to Uruk, brace yourself,” Arthur said quietly. “It’s nothing but rain and snow depending on the season and on the day.”

“And you defend such a land?”

“It is my home. If you were born there, you would see its worth. You should have been there when you sent your men.” The criticism was harsh in his voice.

Gilgamesh said nothing. “Would you like to know more of Mordred?”

“…” That was what Arthur was really curious about, and Gilgamesh bringing it up could go south.

“Mordred was the child of Morgause.”

“—but she’s my half sister!” Arthur’s disgust was evident in his voice.

“I knew you wouldn’t want to hear the story,” Gilgamesh huffed. “She pretended to be your wife and obtained your seed. Mordred is like a homunculus. They matured in only years, just in time to become one of your knights.”

Arthur was revolted. His relationship with his family was strained to put it _very_ lightly. Now he understood why Mordred might end up killing him.

“But Mordred wanted to protect me.”

“Mordred wanted to protect your honor above all things. They wanted you for themself.”

“…” Arthur said nothing, wanting this conversation to end. He would treat his child, no matter how they were conceived, with love and respect… though Mordred, if what Gilgamesh said was true, was a complicated case.

“I did it to protect you.”

“I know you did. I still wish you didn’t.”

The trip continued in silence, until the night fell and they were forced to find an inn. Buying it out with all the gold the innkeeper was offered, they were given beds and drink for as long as they wanted. They’d depart in the morning. Arthur made the pointed decision of choosing his own room without Gilgamesh, though the king would follow him in anyway.

“What happened to that affection of yours?” He mocked. “The way you couldn’t resist kissing me?”

“That part of me died with Mordred. Now I am only fulfilling a promise to you.”

This was not what Gilgamesh wanted—the closeness they shared as Arthur got used to him, as they charmed one another was something he _worked for_ , damn it, and if he knew killing his bastard would end up like this… no, Gilgamesh didn’t regret his decision. He would work his way back into Arthur’s heart with a little more effort. If he’d done it after stealing his pride, he could certainly do it after killing his murderous child.

(If anyone could hear Gilgamesh’s thoughts, they’d think he was verifiably insane.)

“Arthur. I don’t want you to hate me.”

Arthur merely turned his gaze up with a glare.

“You are still the one thing I want most in this world. I will still give you anything you wish for your cooperation.”

“Give me Camelot. That’s all I want.”

“And if it’s at odds with each other? As it falls apart, you still want to be in the center?”

“Only I can fix it.”

Gilgamesh turned the corner of the door. “Mope, then. You’ll come around when you see it for yourself.”

The mass graves, Arthur thought? The widows, the fatherless children, he thought? How could he be happy seeing that. How could he count this as a victory?

He wouldn’t be able to sleep.

\--

“Mordred.”

Green eyes opened wide, surprised to even be alive.

Resting on a sacrificial slab, they struggled to sit up, fists balled up tight. “Where is he? Where’s the king who killed me?!”

Ishtar crossed her arms, pleased with Ereshkigal’s work. It’s not often a human returned from the land of the dead, but something about fate had brought them back. Something about an action left undone had left a thread of life tethered from Mordred’s form back to the world. The rules could be bent just a little bit for a special case; the person destined to kill King Arthur should live until they completed their task.

Arthur had insulted Ishtar, and he would pay.

“You may bow your head to the one who paid the price to resurrect you.” Ishtar held her arms aloft.

“You… who are you?”

“I am Ishtar, the Goddess of Venus. Gilgamesh has insulted us both, hasn’t he? He took your life, he smeared my name… we both have something in common. He took your dear father from you, didn’t he?”

Mordred’s eyes lit up. “A pagan goddess… saved me? For revenge, huh.” They pulled their legs over the side of the slab and sat up. “I’m not one to be used by others. I have my own mission.”

“And that’s exactly what I need you to do! Your mission. Didn’t your father forsake you…?” She whispered next to his ear. “He accepted Gilgamesh’s proposal. You have a new step-father, or will, soon—”

“ _Never_ ,” they hissed. “I will never let that happen. Where’s my sword? Where am I?”

“You’re in one of my temples. And I will arm you with a weapon of the gods to do what you need to do.”

Ishtar materialized a sword in her hands, with a hilt of lapis lazuli and gold intertwined. It looked as regal as it did threatening. “It always finds its target,” Ishtar whispered with a happy, malicious tone. “Whether you choose Arthur or Gilgamesh, I’m tasking you with killing one of them. And I will not be failed, got it?”

Mordred took the sword with a grin. “I know who I’m aiming for.”

“Surprise me. Don’t tell me yet. From here on out, you’re on your own—but I’ll tell you this. Those two are heading to Camelot. If you meet them there, you might be able to fulfill your destiny.”

“… I’ll find them alright.” Mordred held the sword aloft. “I’m going to make sure that union never happens.”

“Good luck.”


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur’s frigidness was hardly that; it was neither cold nor hot. It was _nothing_. He regarded Gilgamesh with absolutely nothing at all, and that’s what drove Gilgamesh the most insane.

Hatred he could view as a passion, a two sides of the same coin of love and hate sort of thing. Hate was flattering, it meant someone cared about you enough to hate you, but the ambivalence Arthur held for him was both well deserved and the worst punishment Gilgamesh could have asked for. It was almost as if, in getting to know Gilgamesh, he’d uncovered his weaknesses along the way and was playing them against him.

Perish the thought.

It didn’t make Gilgamesh want him any less, however.

In fact, the fact that they were betrothed gave him hope. Arthur was a tender soul, and he had taken the sight of Mordred’s death, no matter how destined he was to kill him, for god’s sake, terribly. He would have to understand eventually the value of his own life, and in a way, he did. He’d accepted Gilgamesh’s proposal for the sake of his own life because his life meant his people’s lives as well. Gilgamesh could understand, oddly enough. He had chased immortality, thought nothing he wanted more of the world than breathing and keeping his heart beating. He only knew that it was a farce if he was just a shitty king to begin with.

Despite Gilgamesh’s selfishness, he could see Arthur’s plight. He must live for his people, what remained of them. Arthur had said to love me, you must love my people as well. Hadn’t he already shown his love through his mercy? Not quite. He’d shown his love for _Arthur_ through his mercy. Not his people, and now he was on the way to visit the land he conquered.

“Arthur.”

He still gave him the privilege of speaking his name, but Arthur did not respond. If only Gilgamesh understood the two magic words that would change the tide of everything, ‘I’m sorry’. But he didn’t feel sorry and therefore stuck to his guns. Mordred was a mad person out to kill either their father or their new stepfather and Gilgamesh handled the situation fatally. If only he knew how Arthur would react. Clairvoyance was a funny thing—so much had changed since he’d stolen Arthur away, that the linear vision of time he had had grown distorted.

There was one thing he was still bothered by, but he chose to stay quiet about it.

It wasn’t long before they were approached by a group of Uruk soldiers, nearly passing the border of the country. Accompanying them was Gawain, and Arthur immediately leapt off his horse to greet him. So long without a sane face.

“Are you okay--?” Gawain demanded. “Mordred was on their way to ruin everything, and—”

“Ruin everything…?”

Gawain sighed, then looked to the man in gold mounted on a beautiful horse. “That king spoke the truth. Britain is prospering, despite its losses. He hasn’t raised a hand to civilians, only the people who opposed him.”

Arthur was stiff. “And those who opposed him?”

Gawain was frank with him. “Dead. Buried. His men patrol the graves so wolves won’t dig them up. I’m sorry, milord. We lost quite a bit.”

Arthur turned to look back at Gilgamesh with a stare that said ‘I’m very obviously not happy with you’ before turning back to Gawain. “You look like you haven’t rested ever since you started riding.”

“I haven’t—wait, Mordred! Did you encounter Mordred?”

“Mordred is dead.”

Gawain lowered his gaze. “I… I see. Was it necessary?”

“It wasn’t. The king chose to execute them.”

A temper flared up in Gawain’s eyes, but he understood the precarious nature of his situation and wisely said nothing to Gilgamesh. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“He was your companion too.”

“Did you accept the king’s proposal?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Arthur said, somberly. “I’m engaged to him. I had to see Camelot for myself.”

“…” Gawain had little to say to that. He looked at the king in gold bizarrely, as if this somehow commanded his respect. Gawain only served one king, and that would remain the same for the rest of his days.

“You could have waited…”

“Our forces are in no condition to fight, let alone for my honor. I accepted because this was the only way Britain would survive.”

Gilgamesh huffed, indignant of the fact that they were talking like he wasn’t there, listening. “We’ll take him to Camelot. Allow him time to rebuild and straighten out his kingdom. Then he will be returning with me.”

“…!” Gawain turned to Arthur. “You couldn’t—”

“They were his terms.” Arthur said quietly, in a way that betrayed his displeasure. Great, now Gilgamesh really was at square one with him. “I say we rest for the night. We have a lot to talk about.”

\--

Gilgamesh’s treasury really knew no ends. Just a hint of the gold that lay within bought them another inn entirely to themselves.

Gawain and Arthur spoke long into the night. Gawain telling him of what he saw, how the country seemed to be unified even at a time of great grief. The economy was prospering with the new wealth coming in from Uruk, and things seemed to be returning to normal, or as normal as they could be with the Knights of the Round at war with one another.

“What of the other knights?” Arthur asked.

“I couldn’t find them. Only Mordred. I was assured they weren’t locked up. They had to cooperate for your sake, you see. It was no secret what Gilgamesh intended to do with you. We… didn’t know the severity of how far—”

Arthur waved him off. “He was accommodating. He never took me by force.” It was only a blunt admission of the truth, with no thanks in Gil’s direction. “He gave me Excalibur back after a while and gave me free roam of his castle, but it was still a prison.”

Gawain leaned in, speaking only above a whisper. “Do you intend to marry him, for real, sire?”

“I do. It’ll be a loveless marriage but it seems this is what will save Britain.”

“… I see,” Gawain sighed. “We’re in no condition to fight him for your honor. You’re making a grave sacrifice.”

“…” Arthur didn’t seem to want to talk about it. “I should talk to him.”

“Why? You owe him nothing. You’ve already given him everything.”

“If someone has to make him understand why his actions are terrible, it should be his betrothed.” Arthur relented, quietly. He then took to the stairs, all the way up to Gilgamesh’s room.

\--

“You know, it’s the simplest actions that speak the loudest, Gilgamesh.”

The king looked over his shoulders, arms crossed. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about. Speak frankly.”

“You could apologize for what you did to my knight.” Arthur had a hard time referring to Mordred as a child, even still.

“Arthur, I don’t think you understand what clairvoyance does to a person.” He stood up to face him, finally. “To know the future and to know your chances of changing it to save a life causes a ripple in time. I made that sacrifice for you. You should appreciate that sacrifice because it’s one you can use to save your kingdom.”

“Look at you!” Arthur spat. “You’re behaving like a child. Of course I know what you went through, but that doesn’t change what you did to Mordred. Showing even the slightest bit of remorse is all I want from you!”

“You really _don’t know at all_.” Gilgamesh glowered. “that all I have done, I have done for you. Showing the slightest bit of gratitude is all I want from you.”

Arthur sighed, staring at Gilgamesh for the longest time. “Fine, I’m grateful to be alive. To see Britain prosper. To know that… everything you’ve done will make things stable. You have my word as a king.”

Gilgamesh looked satisfied with that, but Arthur opened his mouth to speak again.

“Now you.”

“What? You expect _me_ to apologize? For saving your life?”

“For taking a life, even if that was the cause. If Mordred really was my child, then that means they were to be your stepchild. For the love of God, Gilgamesh, show remorse. Show me anything in that soul of yours that feels regret!”

This is where Gilgamesh knew he could lie, but at the cost of his pride? His intentions were noble and he knew it. He knew Mordred was a crazed person who would stop at nothing to take their revenge on Arthur or keep them all for themself. This was also a moment that could divide them forever, making their union as dry and boring as anything Gilgamesh could subject himself to. What did he say before? That Arthur was beautiful, but not so beautiful that he couldn’t live without him?

When had that changed?

“It is… regrettable… that Mordred’s actions could not be stopped.” Gilgamesh spoke, finally. “It is also a shame that you didn’t know who Mordred truly was before their life ended.”

It wasn’t quite an apology, but it was honest. Gilgamesh could never lie about how sorry he was and shed fake tears for Mordred. It wasn’t quite what Arthur was satisfied with, but he knew for now, it was all he could pull out of Gilgamesh that would be true to his heart.

“Thank you.”

There was a pause between them.

“Who was Mordred? Truly. Did they serve by my side only for the chance to kill me?”

“It’s different than that. They were raised to hate you, but they only chose to worship the ground you walked on. They… hungered to be acknowledged by you, as an heir.”

“You’re telling me this knowing it’ll only make me more upset with you, aren’t you?”

“You have demanded the truth from me,” Gilgamesh tilted his head up. “I’m giving it.”

“Good.” Arthur sat on the bed, rubbing his forehead. “Tell me everything. It’s your turn. Tell me the legend of Mordred.”

\--

Arthur didn’t get nearly as much rest as he would’ve liked, but he sat proudly on his horse as if the tiredness didn’t show. Gilgamesh, full of the same pride, did the same. Knowing about Mordred’s history had only embittered him for not getting closer, but Gilgamesh had told him the truth and spared no detail. He wasn’t anywhere close to forgiving him, but for once, Gilgamesh’s bluntness was a step in the right direction.

Gawain stayed closer to Arthur’s side than Gilgamesh did, feeling the rank of a protective knight outranking one of a shady betrothed. Gilgamesh rode at his other side, just to prove he had the right to be there. Plus, a really petty part of him didn’t want Gawain to be speaking out of his place.

“How long until we reach Britain?”

“Six days, since you met us partway. Five if we hurry.”

“Let’s not wait, then.” Arthur took the reigns of his horse and lead the charge on the path.

\--

Mordred took a bite of an apple, fresh and stolen.

Ishtar had really helped a lot. Though the scar still made an ugly mark between their chest, it had mostly healed over into nothing more than a dull ache. They had to prepare, naturally, for the trip ahead. Hiding from palace guards, stealing provisions—everything they needed to make a stealthy getaway and find Arthur, fast.

The sword that apparently never missed its mark was beautiful, and a step up from the blade Mordred had wielded, which was already quite impressive. Mordred had tested it during the night, on a few guards they encountered. Like a guided missile, the blade pierced through armor like paper and struck through the heart with little effort from Mordred at all.

But the target, though…

Ideally, Mordred wanted them both to die. Gilgamesh far, far moreso, if he could convince Arthur to acknowledge them and keep them by his side, but something hungered within Mordred for Arthur’s retribution. Something made them want to make both pay. Hadn’t they seen Arthur in silks and jewels? He was enjoying being a pet to the king, no doubt. If that really was the case, both of them were going to get the sharp end of Mordred’s new blade.

It needed a name, though.

“Genever,” They said out loud after thinking it through, holding it aloft. “That sounds like the right name for you.”

Mordred stood up, dusting the sand off themselves and checking their bag of provisions. It was more than enough. A merchant was riding in soon, and Mordred could steal the horse and get going. They knew the path by now, even without help.

Revenge was never a better compass.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur woke to sunlight bathing his blankets on the stiff inn bed.

They were only a day away from Camelot now.

There, he’d make his arrangements to set everything in order. Hopefully, with authority, he could dismiss all Uruk soldiers from Britain and give everything back to the people. He was under no delusion that Gilgamesh wasn’t the authority of his own army, but even he knew he probably needed them back home now that the takeover was done with. God, just the thought of it made Arthur bitter. Britain was no longer independent, it belonged to another country and he could do nothing to fight for it.

But he could make sure it lived in peace and leave the fighting for it to a new generation.

Gilgamesh spoke so much about his history, and his legend, and … this was where it was destined to end? In the arms of another king. He didn’t want to be killed by Mordred, and apparently that was no longer on the table anyway, but he didn’t want it to be like “And he and the conquering king Gilgamesh lived tensely ever after”, but he supposed if he wanted to live there was no other choice. Gilgamesh had chosen to tell him everything about Mordred even in the face of knowing that it would hurt Arthur to have them gone, but that was just Gilgamesh’s personality. Even knowing the extent of his cruelty, he didn’t lie.

So therefore, Arthur had to believe his clairvoyance was real, and that Mordred really was destined to kill him. The story he told him of Mordred had too many things Gilgamesh couldn’t possibly know about to be fake. That didn’t mean there couldn’t have been another way. Gilgamesh was just too bull-headed to accept any way but the most decisive.

He sat up in the plain shirt and pants he wore as pajamas. Gilgamesh had offered him something from his treasury to wear, but Arthur had plainly refused. He was not going to be dolled up in anything Gilgamesh wanted him to wear, any sign of ownership or trust between them. Arthur trusted Gilgamesh the same way one trusted a wolf to tear into you when it was hungry; in the sense that his raw nature prevented lies. It was not a loving trust.

“Gawain,” He motioned to the other man in bed. It was early, nearly 7 AM and it was raining outside. “Let’s get going.”

Gawain had been running on nothing but steam the past several weeks, and his loyalty never gave in though his body was starting to feel the pain of unrest and hunger. He didn’t stir at Arthur’s voice, but at the very least, he was breathing. Arthur wasn’t sure why he checked—who would kill him?

He figured Gawain deserved to sleep in, and wandered to Gilgamesh’s room.

The king was awake, already dressed, and absolutely miserable. He’d been away from his lavish kingdom on a road that had few inns and uncomfortable beds, intolerable food, and undesirable people. The sacrifices he made for Arthur! At the very least, they would return once Camelot was settled, and this would be no more than another adventure to scribe for the future—the story of how Gilgamesh brought another king home as his own.

“Oh?” Gilgamesh turned to face him from the desk he was combing his hair at. “Look at you, deigning me worthy of your presence. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were ignoring me.”

“…”

“But where are my manners? Come, sit. That hideous bed should serve better as a chair than it did me for sleep.”

Arthur sat down, and Gilgamesh appraised his looks. “Those shoddy pajamas don’t suit you. You looked much better back home.”

“You’re full of compliments, aren’t you?”

“It _was_ a compliment, you should be grateful.”

“There’s a lot I should be grateful for, huh, Gilgamesh?” And like that, his mood had already soured. This king was impossible! “I thought you had become wise after your quest for immortality, but you’re still—”

“Still what? Say it.”

“Still impertinent. You won’t talk at my level at all, yet you’re forsaking your comfort for my sake. How much do you actually love me, Gilgamesh? Enough to claim and save what’s yours, but not enough to respect me?”

So that was the root of Arthur’s problem. Gilgamesh thought he was giving and giving and giving, but the one thing Arthur hadn’t received was his respect. In a sense, that was both true and not. Gilgamesh did not disrespect anything he loved, but he was so far above other people that he refused to lower himself. So he had to see Arthur as just as high up. That was what would bridge the gap between them, and yet—damn it, Gilgamesh didn’t _want_ to do that. It was petty.

“Without breaking off our arrangement, tell me what you want, Arthur.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t act dumb. Tell me what you want from me, clearly.”

“Does… does that mean you don’t know?” Arthur’s tone was genuinely shocked. How could one man not see the obvious in front of him? Gilgamesh merely stared at him. He was _asking how to respect him_.

On one hand, he was trying? On the other… this was his betrothed. How could one man be so senseless?

“I want you to treat me as an equal, for one. By your own admission, you said I was a step up from your usual lovers, so I want to be treated as such. I am the King of Knights, and sometimes I will have to make decisions you have no say in, like my clothing, for the most bare minimum example that somehow _still_ needs to be brought up. Also bigger decisions, like _who dies and who lives_.” That one was particularly punctuated in his voice. “You will treat me and my land with the same dignity as you treat your own. If you’re annexing it and protecting it from future threats alongside me, it should merit the same treatment as Uruk gets. And finally… I am not your pet, your toy, or who you go to when you’re bored. Do you think I told you my story because I wanted to entertain you? I wanted to keep your mind off other things.”

Gilgamesh took it all in. He stared at him, pondered his words, and for the very first time in his life… relented.

“Very well, King of Knights. If this is what it takes to keep you happy—”

“It’s not about keeping me happy! It’s about respect.”

“ _As I was saying_ , if my cooperation with your demands is all you ask for, then you will be treated as the king you are. However, this doesn’t exempt you from criticism or argument—we will disagree on things and those things will be settled without me bowing to everything you say. You are not above me, Arthur.”

The response shocked Arthur, but he didn’t let it show. He expected some dramatic response about how he was the beginning and end of all kings and all kings should follow his example, but he guessed one of two things was happening; he wanted Arthur to shut up and like him, or he was seeing a change in Arthur that hadn’t been present when he had been acting lowkey in his palace. Arthur hazarded another guess that it was mostly the former.

“Good,” Arthur said, though his voice didn’t betray any relief. “Then we’ll be better off.”

\--

When it came time to cross the English Channel, Gilgamesh was looking upon the land surrounding him with utter distaste.

“This is what you protect, Arthur? This land is so dreary that it makes me yearn for sunlight.”

“This is what I protect, with my life.”

_No wonder it was such a pushover_ , Gilgamesh thought, but the curious thing was that he thought it instead of saying it.

The ferry that would carry them and their horses across had taken them with celebration and a bit of nervousness. A foreign king and their hometown hero, returning together… betrothed. It was confusing for everyone, but not too different from uniting a kingdom under a marriage. It was just _severely_ unconventional. As they began down the road to Camelot, peasants and merchants would eagerly approach their king’s horses, singing praises of his return.

The sheer virtue of the man! Gilgamesh had never seen people so brazenly approach someone who was their ruler. He expected some degree of fear and respect, not… this happy, joyous kindness. Nobody dared approach Gilgamesh, and to see Arthur regard them warmly without slowing down his horse…

Was this immortality?

He knew that in order to be immortal, you had to be immortal in your story and legend. Your life had to endure the passage of time through whispers and broken tablets and books, but looking upon Arthur he saw a different kind of immortality. This was what made Arthur’s legend reach him in hushed whispers and excited retellings. This is what he heard of when he learned Rome lost its emperor to him. Arthur ruled selflessly, while Gilgamesh, despite learning his lesson, ruled selfishly.

It went against everything he was taught, and despite seeing it for himself, it didn’t change his mind. Gilgamesh was like a boulder in a river, only time would erode him. It did, however, give him something to think about. Something that drew him to Arthur all the more, a selfish desire to want him more than the people who adored him. To have something that so many people adored.

It was a step up from ‘I love you for how fun it will be to oppose your ideals and break you into my own’, but still nothing Arthur would find very charming.

He wondered how their story together would be retold in history. Would Gilgamesh be the villain, or a hero? It all depended on who history favored. He realized then that if this was going to be a part of their immortal history, would he be favored as a conqueror?

Would his statues stand as tall as Arthur’s?

It didn’t matter, for now. The main event was getting to Camelot.

\--

Arthur could not be stopped. They rode day and night to Camelot, only a few breaks taken. It wasn’t a far trip from the channel, but it still took time. Soldiers from Uruk cheered when they saw their king arrive on horseback—amazed that he would even make the trip. They were loyal, but they knew their king well—he was one who would live in comfort as he ruled. To see him here was a morale boost unlike any other.

Yet, Arthur could not turn his gaze away from the mass graves for part of his fallen army. There was nothing Gilgamesh could do to distract him, either.

“A war for my life cost us the lives of good men,” Arthur turned to Gilgamesh with a firm stare. “Never forget that, as long as we live.”

“Would you have rather died with them?”

“I won’t start this fight by saying that I would’ve. I told you I was grateful to be alive, and I am. That doesn’t mean I cannot mourn.”

Gawain did not like Gilgamesh, for several obvious reasons, but that particular comment bothered him more than anything else. “Surely some of yours died for Arthur, too. Do you feel nothing for them? Or were they just a sacrifice for getting what you wanted?”

“…” It was bait, and Gilgamesh was wise enough not to fall for it. “Your kingdom was at the apex of its downfall. If no one intervened, the Knights of the Round Table would have fallen apart completely, and this land would be in shambles. I won’t congratulate myself for my work, but as someone who can clearly see the future—I won’t take shame in it, either.”

God, everything he said pissed Gawain off. Arthur gave him a look that said ‘don’t start’. Gilgamesh still had his pride but was carefully navigating the conversation. He wouldn’t keep it up if Gawain kept antagonizing him.

Finally, they were at the castle. Something Gilgamesh could appreciate. Something that gave Arthur the most relief since before Guinevere’s incident. His home. It was beautiful, the crutch of the kingdom, and though it didn’t match Gilgamesh’s aesthetic at all, he could see the effort in the walls, in the tapestries that hung on them and how meticulously every stone fit into its proper place.

They were off their horses and inside when Bedivere approached Arthur.

“My king…! And…” He looked at Gilgamesh with some suspicion. Face it, everyone in the castle didn’t know what to make of Gilgamesh. Was he a new ruler? Or was he giving back what he took? Everyone had been wounded by the loss in the kingdom, several good men had died. No one could look at Gilgamesh with the same amount of respect that they had for Arthur.

“It’s alright, Bedivere. I want a full report as to what happened while I was gone.”

“And what about you? Did anything happen while you were captured that we should know about?”

“…” Arthur paused, not sure if he wanted to break the news about Mordred. “Not yet. Have one of the servants take Gilgamesh to … my quarters.” It was the nicest place in the castle, and Gilgamesh probably deserved to have to stay in them for forcing Arthur to do the same at his own castle.

Gilgamesh showed no disagreement, so he was lead by his soldiers up the stairs. Arthur would have to speak to him later.

Bedivere looked nervous. “Ever since we got word of your return, Agravain has wanted to speak to you. The rest of us are in the meeting room. Except…”

“Lancelot. I know. Are there others that are dead?”

“What about Mordred? They left to come after you.”

“…” Arthur hesitated. “Later. I’ll speak of that later.”

\--

Gilgamesh appreciated Arthur’s fine décor, but it still held no candle to his own.

Ridding himself of his armor and dressing in something far more comfortable, he decided to snoop around his room some.

A desk filled with papers and excellent penmanship in English. He could only make out a little of the script, but they were all letters he was likely in the middle of writing before he could send them off at the time of his capture. Nothing spoke of Gilgamesh. He supposed he wasn’t really on the king’s radar until the siege.

His closet was filled with finer things, but no jewelry. Not a crown in sight. Of course all of that would be kept in the treasury—if they even had one. Arthur gave back to the people, didn’t he? Hmph.

His bed was covered in an embroidered blanket and furs, and if there was something Gilgamesh could appreciate about the finery here, it was the keen attention to detail and the hundreds of hours of work put into every stitch. This was an artwork he could bring back with him to Uruk. Naturally, Arthur could pick some servants to come along…

Arthur entered the room just after the sun had set. Gilgamesh had been brought a meal that went untouched. The mead was _disgusting_ , the food gamey and rustic. He’d been eating trash ever since he got here, but tonight he particularly couldn’t stomach it.

“What did your knights say?”

“… everything you told me. It’s true, you’re a clairvoyant, Gilgamesh. Any doubts I had have been quashed.”

“Hah! So we can begin the journey back home.”

“Not quite. Gilgamesh, I have another proposition for you.”

“Hm?”

“Give me a year before I return to Uruk.”

“What?” Gilgamesh spoke angrily. “That was not a part of our promise!”

“I know it wasn’t, and I humbly request you change your mind. I need to stabilize Britain before I rule it from afar. It will take time. Wounds need to heal.”

“I refuse to leave you behind!”

“Then stay.”

Gilgamesh balked at the sheer audacity—that he stay! In this place! It was nice, but not as nice as his palace, his home, his—everything. And what of Uruk while he was gone?

Arthur continued. “Or just stay until you get bored of me and return home because you realize I’m nowhere near as fun as you thought.”

Okay, now the indignation was getting ruder. If Gilgamesh relented now, it would mean that all of this was for naught, a waste, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

“I refuse.”

Arthur sighed. “Which part do you refuse?”

“Giving up on you. I expect the finest treatment while I’m here, Arthur. Maybe a change of scenery will prove less dull with your companionship. You can show me the magic that governs this land as you have seen the gods that preside over mine. I’d love to meet the spirit who gave you that sword.”

_So she can give you one, too?_ Arthur thought, annoyed. “Nimue wouldn’t give you the time of day. And you’d be wise not to anger anything while you’re here, which would be… incredibly easy to do, given you have conquered this land.”

“Spiteful, are they?”

“Very. Don’t trod on any fairy rings.”

Okay, now it was hard to tell if Arthur was teasing him or giving him the truth. “So I’ll be staying in here, then?”

“It’s the nicest place I have to offer.”

“There’s no sofa.”

“I know.”

Gilgamesh crossed his arms. “We will be sharing the bed, then.”

Arthur sighed. “Yes, we will.”

“It’s usually not appropriate for betrothed people, but I suppose I gave you the option back home. Very well.”

Arthur was tired of this. Gilgamesh was still full of it even if he saw him bending in certain ways. Staying in Britain was a surprise, but he supposed he had more than enough soldiers here to protect him. Maybe he could show him the value of this land, and why it needed its king. Maybe he could convince Gilgamesh to let him go for the greater good.

If he sensed a change in him, who knew what could happen?


	11. Chapter 11

It was the first peaceful sleep Arthur had in a long time.

In the familiar scent of his own bed, back at his home, back in the cold as opposed to the radiating heat of Uruk. It felt natural, it felt normal. Laying on his side, he could practically feel the heat of the hearth from his bed, and it brought back memories of when Guinevere would hold him from the side, and even with all the hurt it came with, it felt… comforting.

As it turned out, he was being held from the side. Spooned, even.

“G—Gilgamesh!” He spoke sleepily, only just roused from his between-dreams daydream, whapping his arm so that he might let go. “Honestly!”

“Cold…” Was all the king murmured in response. “Britain is freezing. Do your duty as my future wife and stay still so I can stay _warm_.”

How long would he be referred to as a wife? Gilgamesh really didn’t care about the boundary Arthur had set up with pillows, he just tossed them aside and moved beside him. He knew better than thinking it was just an excuse to cuddle, but he also thought it might be some sort of power move on Gilgamesh’s behalf. Relenting, he supposed the temperature change from Uruk to Britain must have done a number on him and figured the least he could do is let himself be held.

He was staying in Britain for as long as Arthur took to settle it back down, after all. A year’s time. That was all he was promised and all he would get.

As Gilgamesh held him in place for his own warmth, he was keenly aware of how cold he was, too. Particularly, how chilly Gilgamesh’s hands were when pressed against his stomach. He’d have an easier time prying apart a dragon’s claws than getting Gilgamesh off him, but at least this was no manner of seduction. This was all about heat. Arthur pulled up the furred blankets that had been kicked down during the night and earned a pleased grunt of approval.

“You’ll have to get up sometime. And you’ll have to eat the food we make here, too.”

“Not yet.”

Spoiled, Arthur thought to himself. Maybe Britain would do him some good in learning humility.

\--

Word had been sent back to Uruk about Gilgamesh’s prolonged stay, but how long it would take to get there was debatable. For now, Gilgamesh insisted on attending meetings, because this was part of his kingdom now, you see, and he was a part of its rulings and procedures.

The Knights of the Round Table weren’t fans.

In fact, each meeting that Gilgamesh spoke up, they all fell deathly silent as if none of them wanted to answer his question. It was only when Arthur rephrased it that he got an answer, and the sheer lack of respect drove Gilgamesh mad. These knights were loyal, even though they’d been through it all and some of them were missing. It figured they would only respect their rightful king—and for that, Gilgamesh wanted to commend them. Almost.

The lore of this land was so opposite of his own. Steeped in the myth of a single god that these knights would fight and die for, it was nothing like dealing with the pettiness of his own. Ishtar, for her status as Uruk’s keeper, was nothing more than a blight on the land she promised to protect.

Strange.

The ocean was the most curious thing of all.

Sea on all sides. Arthur insisted on bringing him to the sea, and Gilgamesh could only behold it as a man who’d never seen it. Infinite and vast, with a white noise that he could hear even from Arthur’s bed. No wonder it was so drafty in his room, the sea breeze could only chill them. No longer was he wearing his golden armor—he was dressed in leathers befitting a king, which was convenient given their sizes—he and Arthur nearly matched, down to the boots.

“Admit it, Gilgamesh,” Arthur spoke coyly. “This is a beautiful sight.”

“It’s… worthy of my gaze, if only that.” Gilgamesh admitted, the barest sunbeams peeking through the clouds reflecting off the water made for quite the sight. It looked like rain would be coming in soon (which he’d have to get used to) and despite that, he wanted to stay and look a little longer. “What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s low tide. I’m going on a walk.”

“Tch—you’ll get wet!”

“Of course you’d fear water, knowing where you come from…”

“Hmph... I’m not afraid of getting wet.”

“Then will you come with me?”

That perfect princely aura…! Damn it to hell, it was one of the things that was deliriously charming about the man. He was baiting Gilgamesh into doing something he didn’t want to do by making it seem unreasonable if he refused— _which was one of Gilgamesh’s own tactics_. He was being outstepped now that he was on foreign ground. He marched after Arthur through the low tide pools, determined to see whatever ‘beauty’ Arthur promised was around here, or mock him for seeing nothing at all.

Arthur was trying, which was strange in and of itself—he was still angry with him about Mordred, but it looked like he was deliberately trying not to think about it in favor of showing Gilgamesh the ropes in Britain. They were to grow old together, after all. Arthur was putting his anger aside to try to win Gilgamesh’s approval of his land, at the very least. That was a very different task than agreeing to love him. Perhaps Gilgamesh would allow him to stay if he saw the value of this place.

(He was wrong to doubt Gilgamesh’s tenacity, but Arthur was powerful in his own right.)

Arthur sat down on an outcropping to face the ocean. Gilgamesh stared, then sat next to him. If Arthur had an agenda, so would he—he had to renew his attempts at seduction. He could still taste the wine-y kiss Arthur had given into when he was starved of touch and giving into Gilgamesh’s logic, but he hazarded a guess that it wouldn’t be like that again.

He’d have to get to know Arthur. Not his story, but the man himself.

“What do you think makes a king, Arthur?”

“I’ve answered this already, I think.”

“Humor me now that we’re on more equal footing. Your birthright or your ability to rule?”

“A king is made by his people.”

“And how is a king made by his people?” Gilgamesh appreciated the answer but wanted to know his interpretation of those words.

“People sow the grains that make it to the king’s table, Merchants trade for the silk that make it into a king’s clothing. People make the tapestries that display a king’s history. For each and every one of those people who serve you, who work to make your life better, you must serve them back by protecting them. I would never say I failed the people who died in a war to save my life, because that would be turning my back on them, but I will never forget them and what they did for me. It’s only the changing of crowns that makes a man a king, and in another life, any one of them could be a king I’d die for in the same way. To respect each and every man as a potential ruler is a good way to look at it; if someone is cruel and unjust, they deserve the same treatment as someone at the top. The same with the righteous.”

“… So that is why you won’t forgive me.”

“It’s not about forgiving you.” Arthur closed his eyes. “In time, I may forgive you. But whether as a king or a man, you haven’t earned that forgiveness. You cannot show me the barest flecks of compassion and expect me to believe you, even if it’s all you’re capable of. Gilgamesh…” Arthur stared out at the ocean, clearing his thoughts. “You have to be more than the man you are now.”

“More than the…?!” Gilgamesh was clearly insulted, but Arthur just rested his hands on his knees.

“Just think about it, okay? … do you remember the children I saw in the palace? The ones who were yours?”

… in truth, Gilgamesh did not. His heirs had permission to live in the palace, but they weren’t his problem.

“What if I had killed one of them?”

“I’d send you to your grave for murdering a child.”

“But you feel you need no punishment for Mordred?”

“Mordred was conscious of their actions and intended to kill you, plus, despite their strange existence, they functioned as an adult culpable of those actions.”

“That’s part of _why_ I might forgive you, someday. But do you understand why it’s hard for me to now?”

“I’d have to be a blind man not to.”

“Then you’re making progress.” Arthur sighed. As they had been talking, the tide came in. Arthur could walk on water, of course, but how many of his powers did he want Gilgamesh to be aware of? “… we’re stuck.”

Gilgamesh caught on to the opportunity and smirked. “Well, it seems we’re stranded until the tide goes back down.”

Arthur really reconsidered walking, but he'd be abandoning Gilgamesh too. “… we are.”

“Arthur, would you kill to protect someone you love?”

Arthur thought of his knights, thought bitterly of Guinevere, thought of Merlin. “I have before.”

“Then you’ve killed someone’s son or daughter in the process. Are we so different?”

“Don’t go down this line of conversation. It’s different when you’re talking to me versus someone you don’t know.”

“Killing is an unforgivable act. To rob someone of their existence robs them of everything they’ve ever known or owned. I acknowledge what I did to Mordred. And I know what you want me to say is ‘I’m sorry’.”

“…”

“Can you truly say you’re sorry to the people you’ve killed to protect what’s yours, though?”

“There is a big, big difference between you and me, Gilgamesh. You kicked me down and had me pledge my honor to you when I had no other choice, even now. Do you not see the difference between taking what you want and earning it?”

“I can see now that I’d have better luck earning it from you.” Gilgamesh paused. “But I don’t regret a single thing I’ve done up until now.”

“You can’t even say you’re sorry for saying I should pledge my pride and body to you?” Arthur rolled his eyes, resting his chin on one hand.

“…” Gilgamesh had really enjoyed that, though… “I suppose an apology is merited for that.”

Arthur’s head shot up in surprise. “?!”

“What?”

“You just apologized! A real, honest apology!”

“Don’t be stupid!” Gilgamesh waved him off. “I’m capable of such a thing! I should have lead you into my throne and told you the truth straightforward, along with proving my clairvoyance to you. I _know now_ that that’s what would have won you over, and I didn’t before.”

“Don’t lie.” Arthur scoffed. “You did it—and everything--because you enjoyed it.”

“I won’t lie, I did enjoy it. But in terms of winning you over, that action may have set me back.”

“So…” Arthur trailed off. “You’re actually trying, now.”

“I was always _trying_ , Arthur.”

“You have a strange way of showing it.”

Gilgamesh could only go so far in a conversation like this—admitting he was wrong to essentially kidnap Arthur and threaten him was about as much as Arthur could get out of him in one sitting, but all of this was a good thing. Gilgamesh was communicating instead of sitting on the high ground with every single talk they had. Arthur would show his appreciation for it, in hopes it would encourage more behavior like it.

(This felt like he was taming someone, didn’t it…)

Arthur gently took the back of his hand and kissed it. “Thank you.”

No ‘for admitting your wrongdoing’ after that, because Gilgamesh would have taken stiff issue with it. Just a thank you. Gilgamesh let him take his hand and gently took it back when he was done. The odd thing was, there was no triumphant look on Gilgamesh’s face, just a pensive one. He didn’t feel like he had won over Arthur any—because he hadn’t, Arthur had yet to forgive him, but the cogs between them were turning, if just very slightly.

The tide was now high enough to graze the tips of their shoes, and wouldn’t come down for a while. Gilgamesh pushed back a shiver, not wanting to let the noble Arthur know he was cold and offer him his cloak. Honestly, how did you get through this land without being covered head to toe?

“Will you tell me now?” Arthur asked.

“Tell you what?”

“Your full story. We have time to kill.”

“I suppose I can start where we all start… I was born to a human and a _goddess_.”

\--

They came back late in the night, after all of Arthur knights had been worrying.

“Where were you? We almost sent out search parties!”

“We got stuck on an outcropping. That’s all.”

“That’s all…” Tristan sighed, looking between them. He really hoped his king would get out of this tumultuous arrangement as soon as possible. He hoped that the cold weather and lack of respect would scare off the King of Heroes, but all it did was make him double down on his efforts.

“Have your cooks prepare their finest!” Gilgamesh announced, staying close to Arthur’s side. “I’m finally in the mood to _celebrate something_ , and I want the most that this dreary kingdom has to offer.”

Arthur nodded his head, as if to say go ahead, and his servants were off. The knights still stood around him.

“You know…” Gawain said, tentatively. “We can have a _room_ prepared for Gilgamesh that’ll suit his tastes.”

“Nonsense. I’m to stay by my fellow king’s side.”

 _Eugh_ , Gawain thought to himself.

“It’s fine,” Arthur insisted. What made him change his mind was a question on all their minds.

\--

After they had eaten, Gilgamesh had something to confess.

“I feel like something’s interfering with me.”

Arthur looked up, just having made the bed in their shared room, placing another pillow boundary that would likely be discarded.

“My clairvoyance. It’s been muddled ever since I got here. Normally I can see things as clearly as day, but when I reach too far, it becomes hindered… I wonder if the gods are messing with me. Is there anyone in your realm with such a power?”

Arthur thought of his relatives who would love to see him dead, thought of the goddess that wanted Gilgamesh to pay, thought of just what you could do out of happenstance in Britain to earn a spirit’s wrath.

“No clue.”

“Hmph.” Gilgamesh sat on the bed, crossing his arms. “I’ll look into it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my bff has been providing me with ideas and i just want to give a shoutout to them, they're the best ;_;

It was a strange thing, to be left alone in Arthur’s room as he did his kingly work; Gilgamesh knew that this is what it must have been like for Arthur back home. Left out of everything, it made him feel like he was squandering his power, but no matter what, the Knights wouldn’t have him as a ruler. At the very least, they wanted Arthur’s story first.

Why did he like Arthur so much?

The attraction he felt to him was undeniable, but hard to put into words. He wanted all of that legend to himself, tied together to the grave in a way that would make their statues never crumble. Arthur had a gift, he made people speak his name in hushed tones and loudly while reveling in his glory. He was the only one comparable to Gilgamesh in terms of feats and adventure, and perhaps, after losing Enkidu, Gilgamesh had wanted something familiar, but Arthur wasn’t familiar at all. Arthur was his opposite in everything he did.

For this, Gilgamesh didn’t doubt himself. He knew what he wanted and how he wanted it. He knew he wouldn’t relent even after this year had passed. Perhaps he shouldn’t be seducing Arthur as much as he should be simply winning him over—seduction promised falsehoods, Gilgamesh needed to be earning _something_ , as Arthur plainly put it, but the compassion Arthur sought was but a green bud in a field of sunflowers, completely overshadowed by his knights and people, only beginning to grow.

But it was there.

Gilgamesh drew the warm cloak around his shoulders and looked out the window of Arthur’s room. Snow was falling—snow! The first time he’d seen it in his life! He wanted nothing to do with it, but was mystified with it all the same. He preferred instead to lay in Arthur’s bed and read his books. Much like Arthur had tried to teach himself Sumerian, he wanted to teach himself about English lore. God almighty, was the Bible boring, though. He skipped it for a book on fair folk.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It was none other than Bedivere, one of Arthur’s most trusted knights.

“If I may have an audience with you?”

Finally, one of them was treating him with the dignity befitting a king. “You may.”

Bedivere gave a bow, before meeting Gil’s eyes with a fiery stare. Gilgamesh spoke before he could stop himself, and likely wouldn’t have. “Lower your gaze, mongrel. You’re in my presence.”

Bedivere’s eyes flickered towards the ground, but the passion in his voice was there all the same. “What do you want with King Arthur?”

“I believe I’ve stated my intention with him numerous times. He’s to be my bride.”

“But what do you want with him? To what end? To live happily ever after with him, or to prove your dominance?”

This one had guts, and Gilgamesh found himself sitting over the side of the bed in curiosity, piqued by the fact that someone was finally challenging him. “What does it matter, so long as your kingdom prospers?”

“Because our king’s happiness is important to us!” Bedivere barked back. “He’s given us so much, he’s beloved by his people… to think he could just be your toy—”

“He will not be my toy,” Gilgamesh corrected him. “but he will be mine.”

“You barely knew him at all! Why would you wage war for his life? Even if… even if he was supposed to die at Mordred’s hands, what did it matter to you?”

“Would you not do the same? Fight in a battle for your king’s life?”

“It’s different! You don’t even know the real him. You only know his history. You decided that was enough to interfere instead of helping by sending word—or by targeting the one person who could have done Arthur harm! Your logic is flawed, by all means!”

“It was an entire system about to crumble. I only unified it by involving myself. Bedivere, you yourself were spared the most depressing task of all.” Gilgamesh closed the book in his lap. “All the time I have spent with Arthur, he’s proven himself worthy to be by my side.”

“Why?”

“Because Arthur never takes, he only gives. He gives hope, he gives power, he gives himself into everything. He is the complete opposite of what a king should be, yet I see his legend reaching just as high and far as mine. I must teach him how to take and he must teach me how to give. I will give myself to him and take him for my own. Our paths in life are interwoven, what we lack is what the other has in abundance. Only then will we be complete as kings.”

So Gilgamesh had come to the conclusion that they were two halves of one whole. Bedivere was speechless. He’d expected this king to be singleminded and foolhardy, but something had changed. Well, his behavior hadn’t, but his philosophy had. Was this the power Arthur had over him? Was he telling the truth…? Either way, he wasn’t expecting such an answer.

“So you intend to ‘complete’ Arthur.”

“He will die if he doesn’t learn how to rule as a king like I do, and you would be tasked with carrying his sword back to the lake from whence it came.”

Bedivere looked up into Gilgamesh’s eyes again. “Arthur could never become a king like you.”

“You act like I am evil. Like there’s nothing motivating me but my own selfish desires. You would have been right, once upon a time, were it not for my best and closest friend teaching me otherwise. You do not deserve to hear that tale, though.”

“This is Arthur’s home. He could never…”

“I’m tired of listening to you.” Gilgamesh interrupted. “Kings make sacrifices all the time. In a trade of princes and princesses across the land, one must give up their homeland. This is no different, and even then, he’s not giving it up. He’ll just be distant.”

“You are a selfish man, Gilgamesh.”

Gilgamesh smirked. “Not so selfish that I can’t commend your loyalty. Understand that what I feel for Arthur can’t compare to what you do, and vise versa. We are on entirely different levels as kings and knights.”

Bedivere clenched his fists. “Then that will be all.”

He didn’t wait for Gilgamesh’s approval to leave.

\--

Mordred was near Greece by the time their horse had given out. It needed rest, and Mordred needed to hunt and gather provisions. They had plenty of Mesopotamian gold to pay merchants with, even if it was stolen goods. A few coins here and there and they had a room for the night, even without speaking their language.

Genever was at their side always, its shiny blade cleaned of the blood it had been stained in. A sword that never missed its mark. Mordred’s target was obvious—Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh had killed them, Gilgamesh had taken father away, Gilgamesh intended to marry him. Gilgamesh was a blight on everything that Mordred wanted out of the world, and though Ishtar leaned towards killing Arthur, Mordred decided that the King of Heroes was the one to be deposed. He had earned their wrath like none other. Mordred was obsessed with piercing that gaudy gold armor straight into his heart.

Father… would be grateful, wouldn’t he? Freed from the shackles that chained him to Uruk, he could finally reestablish the Round Table. They could serve him again, they could have him recognize them as an heir. Gilgamesh cut them off too soon and abruptly, leaving no time for conversation and no ability to reason with them, so all reasoning went out the window. Mordred would have revenge.

Father… was perfect.

The perfect, ideal king. Kind in every single way. Giving and brave, conqueror of villains and friend to all heroes. _He_ was the real king of heroes. Mordred only wanted to live in his shadow until they could finally stand beside him as an equal, but getting there would be so hard.

The thought of Father’s face was a comfort. Knowing that he was alive and well was the only thing that kept Mordred going, even if they were bitter thinking he might be compliant in the whole thing. No matter. He’d see the errors of his ways once Gilgamesh was impaled on their sword. Ishtar was a more benevolent goddess than any they’d prayed to before, sacrilegious as that may be.

“Soon…” They held the blade aloft as they rested against the wall.

\--

Arthur and Gilgamesh walked together along the parapets of Camelot, watching the snow slowly build around them.

“Usually, it’s rain,” Arthur admitted. “This will all be gone in a week or so, maybe less.”

Gilgamesh was wrapped in furs that made him appear as bulky as his regular armor did. He couldn’t stand the cold for the life of him, and his conversation with Bedivere was weighing on his mind. Could he really betray what he told Bedivere to Arthur? It would be admitting a weakness, a flaw in his otherwise perfect armor. Gilgamesh _had_ no weaknesses, but he did lack experience in trying new things, as set in his old ways as he was.

(He was adamant that wasn’t a weakness.)

“Arthur,” He began. “What motivates you?”

“A lot of things. Making the world a better place for those who inherit it, for one. The safety and peace we assure in our lifetimes will go on to influence the lives of children and others.”

“But war will always occur. Even you’re not that naïve.”

“And peacetime will make sure everyone realize why it’s worth fighting for.” Arthur responded easily. “I don’t believe a utopia is completely possible, but I do believe working towards it makes the world a better place.”

“A utopia would be boring,” Gilgamesh scoffed.

“Oh? You don’t dream of a world where you and I live out our days peacefully?”

“Tch—” It was hard to see if Gilgamesh was red from the cold or something else. “ _Obviously_ , we will achieve just that.”

“Have you seen that? With your clairvoyance?”

“… I told you, it’s been muggy lately, but I don’t need it to know the truth.”

Arthur paused. “… It might be worth looking into my relatives’ influence over you.”

“You mentioned them, and I did see something about them before I came here. Morgan le Fay?”

“Yes…” Arthur sighed. “She could be responsible. I don’t want to tangle myself with her if she isn’t, though.”

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. My clairvoyance is essential to our success. We’d better solve it quickly.”

The two shared a moment of silence, thinking about the threats that lay ahead. Should Gilgamesh bring up what he was thinking before? That he told Bedivere? His pride told him to stay quiet. He didn’t need to ask how to give, he merely needed to observe and learn. Mercy was not easily obtained by someone who didn’t have it.

… but it was vexing all the same not to be on the same page as Arthur.

“Why do you take nothing for yourself?” Gilgamesh asked. “Land, glory, power—”

“I’ve taken power and glory for myself. I wouldn’t be a king otherwise,” Arthur gently corrected. “But I’m only preoccupied with my own land for now. I could have had power in Rome, but… Britain needed me.”

“Heh! So you admit it. Where are all the statues of you?”

“I only have one. And even then, it was the people’s idea. I don’t need statues.”

“But you must want to be preserved somehow, right?”

“In my actions, yes. I would like to set an example for the future, so that our kings know how to lead.”

“Hah! A fool’s errand. People with power will act as they please.”

Arthur smirked. “Like you?”

“Like me.” He owned it, completely. “But you must want your story to be preserved, right? Yourself. Your accomplishments. No man is above that desire. No one wants to be lost to time.”

Arthur gave pause. “… no, I suppose not. I’d like to be remembered on the right side of history. To be a fairytale people tell at bedtime wouldn’t be so bad, either.”

“It’s not a fairytale if it’s the truth.”

“I guess. How will it end, Gilgamesh?”

Gilgamesh puffed out his chest and crossed his arms. “’King Arthur will return to Uruk and rule from afar as King Gilgamesh’s bride. Their union will set the standard for leadership across all of humankind. Their legends documented across parchment and stone, weathered by time, enduring.’”

Arthur sighed. “At least you’re not calling me queen.”

Gilgamesh laughed haughtily, slapping Arthur’s back. “I might soon enough!”

More quiet moments passed between them, and Gilgamesh shivered and went on in his usual unappreciative, mocking tone. “This kingdom is so frigid and ruthless that I fear the blood in my veins might freeze where I stand.”

Without saying anything, Arthur took his hands and breathed on them, rubbing them, warming them up. “If you’re cold, just say so.”

Gilgamesh said nothing and learned something acutely with that one action.

Arthur gave without thinking. Gilgamesh took without thinking.

He understood, now more than ever, why Arthur had to be his. He would never survive like this. He never could have, if Gilgamesh hadn’t intervened.

Gilgamesh loved him.

With a stare that somehow saw past him, he realized that he loved him more than a trophy or a symbol of power and unity, of his conquest and his immortality to the test of time. The last person he loved had been taken from him in his hubris by the gods.

Never again. Never, ever, ever.

\--

Did it strike fear in him?

Fear wasn’t the right word. Fear and dread weren’t something the confident Gilgamesh truly felt, but it did put him at unease. The loss of his clairvoyance was no coincidence, and to suddenly no longer see the future meant that someone didn’t want him to see their plans, so he had to plan around that invisibility. Morgan le Fay? A possibility. He didn’t think Ishtar possessed the capability to block his mind. He was one of the few people in the entire world with this ability.

With Arthur in their shared room, he pondered Arthur’s mortality. He should have been dead by now but wasn’t.

All this did was spur him quicker to show his love to him. He wasn’t love _sick_ or needy, but he was hungry for Arthur to overturn his verdict on him. His pride was in the way, however, and he already concluded seduction was a method that wouldn’t work again.

He’d set him free, hadn’t he? Only their deal bound them, and Gilgamesh wanted to work around the deal as opposed to break it.

“I suppose this is where you belong.” He finally said.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur was pulling a night shirt over his shoulders. “Of course it is.”

“A natural divide between us. If I were to conquer all the land between Uruk and Britain, would you be satisfied living wherever within it?”

“I… don’t think I’d like that kind of conqueror very much.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” Gilgamesh huffed. So much for that—admittedly fantastical and only a joke—idea.

“… what if I said you were free to travel back and forth, so long as you always came back to me?”

“Gilgamesh, you’re dismantling every promise you’ve made in your favor. First it was to come back to Uruk once I made sure Britain was okay. Then you gave me a year to shape it. Now you’re saying I’m free to come and go as I please.” Arthur was suspicious. “What game are you playing?”

“I’m playing no games.” He was offended at the very thought. “And I’m certainly not rescinding my right to your kingdom! I’m only saying that it makes more sense for you to guard what’s yours from time to time. You can’t count on your knights to do all the work.”

Arthur read between the lines. Gilgamesh was…

He had taken to heart what Arthur had said to him, before. On the outcropping.

“Then all you will have done is save my life. You won’t have total power, you won’t have me all the time. All of this will _finally_ be because you just wanted to save my life, whether or not that was your intention to start with.”

“Don’t start with me. I’m doing merely what I want to. What’s sensible. There’s a chance your legend will fade into obscurity if you’re spread too thin. You will belong to me. That hasn’t changed. But King Arthur is simply not King Arthur without Britain. I’d bore myself to tears thinking of you sleeping on the sofa of my palace again! Not getting up to your usual escapades… how else will I learn of more of King Arthur’s legend?”

Arthur got on one knee in front of Gilgamesh, who was sitting on the bed. “You truly mean this? You won’t change your mind?”

“You’ve been the only thing influencing me to do such a thing at all! It annoys me to think you won’t be by my side all the time. Accept it as a sign of my most gracious mood!”

Arthur cupped his cheek, and Gilgamesh stared down at him proudly, not flinching on his word, or melting into his touch. He was as resolute as a king should be.

“… I accept. Thank you for your graciousness. In return, I will keep you warm through this snowstorm. To think you’ve come from a sandy desert to your first snow…!”

Gilgamesh said nothing, and Arthur said no more, either. Neither had to.


	13. Chapter 13

Gilgamesh’s changes hadn’t gone unnoticed by Arthur.

Suddenly letting things slide was one thing, but Gilgamesh had given up on everything but the inevitability of their marriage—something Arthur knew he wouldn’t give up on, no matter what. Arthur had made his peace with the idea of being Gilgamesh’s bride, especially now that he had free roam between the kingdoms. As much as he hated to admit it, Gilgamesh’s army’s influence had stabilized Britain and brought the Knights of the Round Table back together to unify against the threat. The final battle that would have taken his life wasn’t going to happen anymore.

Arthur still hadn’t forgiven him for Mordred, and he would nurse that wound for a long time, but now? Now he had to thank Gilgamesh for his kindness. He only wanted to encourage this growth, but not at the expense of letting Gilgamesh walk over him. There was a fine line in letting Gilgamesh think he’d won and understanding that praise came from a change of character for the better.

This time in bed, he faced him, letting the warmth between their bodies intermix. It wasn’t a bad feeling at all. Gilgamesh was handsome and had an attractive way about him. It would be nothing like when Arthur got ahead of himself, but he did allow himself to kiss him on the forehead as he slept. Gilgamesh only stirred slightly, leaving this a secret only Arthur would know.

He spoke to his knights, particularly Galahad, about how to deal with the situation from here on out. Lancelot had fled to Paris, and they obviously couldn’t count on his help any longer. The rest of the Knights of the Round table were mostly intact, with three or four missing members. Arthur was relieved to know that the casualties among them were minimal; it was less he could detest Gilgamesh for.

The snow had begun to wane, but they were still plenty snowed in. Now, it would even be a chore to walk on the parapets. A shame, since Arthur wanted to show Gilgamesh more of their kingdom.

He looked good, dressed down from that gaudy golden armor in the colors of Arthur’s kingdom, but perhaps it was only his personal preference speaking. He’d lead Gilgamesh through the treasury (“Pitiful,” the king said morosely) and showed him relics of their kingdom.

“What good does having the body part of a saint do you?” Gilgamesh quipped, standing in the halls of one of Camelot’s many churches. “If you ask me, it’s a bit disgusting.”

Some things they would never see eye to eye on.

“So…” Gilgamesh began. “Galahad, was it? He seems to be taking Lancelot’s departure the hardest.”

“Galahad’s conception was not unlike Mordred’s.” Arthur said simply. Gilgamesh balked at the fact that there were so many sorceresses willing to surrogate a child from the knights of the round table. Their prophecies were _ridiculous_.

“I was wrong about this country. It seems to be stuffed to the brim with old magic and gods, just as Uruk is… and all of them seem to be devoted to ending your career and life, Arthur.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Thank goodness for me stepping in.”

The ego of this man knew no bounds.

\--

It was a curse that had taken Gilgamesh’s clairvoyance away from him.

The fog that would roll over the hills of Britain would also cloud his mind, so long as he didn’t leave.

Conquering made widows, widows endured the suffering of their lost loved ones, and in that, forged an anger for the one who paved the way. It was difficult to say which of Arthur’s enemies made it so—Morgan, ever an appropriate candidate, had several allies who were just as capable. It was impossible to trace, mixing magics from different lands rarely had good results.

But as long as he was in Britain, it wouldn’t fade away.

There would be no seeing the future that Mordred had in store for them.

\--

In truth, no one knew the real fate of Guinevere.

Gilgamesh’s army had raided the night of her execution, sending everyone into a flurry of battle. She was presumed dead; the bonfire at her stake had been lit, and Lancelot’s forces had been dealt with first at Gilgamesh’s orders. Lancelot had fled to France, but the brothers of Gawain hadn’t been slain in battle—Gawain had been taken back to Uruk so he wouldn’t influence Arthur into war. As this was explained to him, Arthur supposed her fate was inconsequential; if she lived with Lancelot in France or if she had died, it didn’t matter. In truth, a part of him hoped she had lived. He didn’t want to hand down the sentence he was forced to.

Gilgamesh might have no longer been able to see the future, but he was able to tell Arthur the extent of his plans, along with the rest of the round table. Mordred would have seized the throne if they pursued Lancelot to France, but since Gawain’s brothers hadn’t been killed and the king and Gawain had been seized themselves, the upheaval that would’ve followed never happened.

Gilgamesh could go on for hours about how he planned it down to the minute, and that planning it to the minute was essential. Either way, all of them had to conclude that without him, their world would have ended in embers and death.

But it begged the question, what now.

“Surely you can figure that out on your own,” Gilgamesh chided. “You were competent for at least a little while, you don’t need my entire guidance.”

That would’ve been _useful_ , they thought. Awfully convenient to lose clairvoyance the moment he stepped into their territory.

“For now, focus on rebuilding, and reining in those tempers of yours.”

“I agree,” Arthur said, finally. “We can’t help what happened with Guinevere and Lancelot, nor can we do anything about… Mordred, any longer. We must focus on rebuilding.”

Gilgamesh would leave the round table to it, now short a few members at his own hand. He didn’t count on being followed out by Bedivere once more.

“…”

“If you have something to say, out with it.”

“You really were being honest… I don’t know if that makes me trust you, though.”

Gilgamesh scoffed. “I conquered your kingdom. You would be a fool to trust me.”

“…” Bedivere continued. “Your obsession with our king is disturbing. You went against fate and a future war with your own men just to save his life. I can’t believe I’m the only one who sees it as such. The rest of them are grateful to you, even if it’s in a reluctant way.”

“You can see it however you wish. Arthur is meant to be mine.”

“Lucius thought the same.”

“Lucius was a mongrel who died a mongrel.” Gilgamesh didn’t have any qualms putting himself above his would-be rivals. “I have bent the will of destiny with my own hands; clairvoyance is a squandered gift if I don’t use it.”

“It’s not doing us any good now…”

Gilgamesh was finding himself growing annoyed with this one. “Oh, so why don’t you go make yourself useful and find out what’s blocking it? You serve your king, don’t you? You have two now.”

Whatever power Arthur had over Gilgamesh, his knights certainly didn’t possess it. He reverted back to a proud and unmoving king whenever dealing with someone who he viewed as beneath him.

“Can you promise me something?”

“What?” Gilgamesh laughed. “What on earth makes you think you have the right to ask me to promise you anything?”

“Just hear me out…” Bedivere sighed. “If you’re taking Arthur as your own, have him be your one and only. I don’t think he can take another incident like Guinevere again. It betrayed his trust so completely that I’m amazed he trusts you at all. Just…”

“I do have concubines, you know.”

“Then get rid of them. You already have children, don’t you? You don’t need consorts anymore.”

Gilgamesh sized up Bedivere without shame, laughed, and waved him off. “I’ll consider it.”

“… please do so.”

Amazing, how protective they were of their king. Didn’t they know concubines were commonplace in other lands? The very idea that he should be physically faithful to one person was silly, but… it was true he had enough heirs already, and startlingly, if it was true that it’d hurt Arthur, he didn’t particularly want to do that.

He didn’t want Bedivere to get under his skin, either. What a troublesome knight.

\--

Gilgamesh was rarely apart from Arthur, people had noticed.

He was bored if they weren’t together and wanted to know more about the land he now governed. He wanted to travel it as soon as the snow let up, he wanted to survey what he had proudly taken in his quest for King Arthur’s life. He was never shy to remind Arthur why he’d done what he had done, and Arthur took it as an effort to impress him.

“You needn’t retell this story to me, Gilgamesh. It’s been my life for months now.”

“It’s not a reminder. It’s just a fact.”

As the snow melted, they began to travel north along with a few knights. Gilgamesh was amazed at how _green_ Britain was. His own gardens were impressive, but nothing compared to the rolling hills and farms that peppered the land, bountiful and natural. He could see himself enjoying his time here even without clairvoyance, but it’d be a cold day in hell when he’d admit it. His opinion of Britain was rising quietly; at first it was just a side bonus to his efforts in saving Arthur, now he could appreciate how different this land was.

“Your knights are… impressively loyal.”

“Should they not be?” Arthur laughed.

“Of course I expect loyalty! But to see what they would’ve done if I hadn’t been here… they are all beside themselves trying to figure me out and find my real intentions with you.”

“Which are?”

“The same as I’ve always told you. Bedivere in particular suspects something.”

“… he’s always been protective and kind.”

“They all seem to know you so well,” Gilgamesh mused quietly. “and they’re grateful you’re still here. Despite that, they all take issue with me.”

“It’s not surprising that they would. A clairvoyant king from another kingdom foresees their king’s death, swoops in on the night of the queen’s execution, claims the kingdom for their own and kidnaps the king. Your actions were rather convoluted for your goal.”

“…”

“What is it?”

“I’m jealous. I don’t need anyone but myself to rule, but your knights are something I’ve never had. I don’t want them, but at the same time, I’m envious of the experience.”

“Is it because you miss Enkidu?”

“…” Gilgamesh paused before answering. “I always miss him. Perhaps it is seeing what you get to keep that I couldn’t that’s making me feel this ridiculous way.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Arthur assured him. “It’s natural. But there’s a difference between knights and friends. In a way, I never had what you experienced with Enkidu. We differ in that respect. Knights serve a king. I want to be on their level, but I can’t be. You had a friend who was your equal. We both have a reason to be envious of one another.”

“… Perhaps it is another reason why I find you so attractive, Arthur. We’re at the same level.”

“There’s no holds barred,” Arthur agreed. “that much is true.”

“What will you do without an heir?” Gilgamesh asked, suddenly.

“… I suppose your heirs are mine now, by default.”

Gilgamesh didn’t really _know_ any of his children. They were someone else’s problem at the age they were at. It wasn’t until they were older that Gilgamesh would be looking at the oldest son as a successor. Even then, Gilgamesh considered his own legacy to be his ‘heir’, he didn’t need a child for that. “You’d consider yourself a father to them?”

“A stepfather, wouldn’t I be?”

“Hmph. I suppose you’ll take an interest once you get back to Uruk?”

“I probably will. It surprised me that you didn’t take an interest in them. A prince or princess here would be a big deal.”

“Were you looking forward to that?”

Arthur didn’t answer. Gilgamesh was poking the bear about Guinevere _and_ Mordred, after all.

“Well, you can sate your wish for a family with my own. I have no qualms with that.”

“… thank you.” Arthur said, quietly. Apparently, that _had_ been on his mind. He knew better than to ask Gilgamesh about his children, he didn’t know anything about them and it’d be up to Arthur to make him care.

\--

Ishtar was watching it all unfold, intrigued.

The kings were growing closer—she, for one, didn’t know who was blocking Gilgamesh’s clairvoyance. It had to take a mighty power to suppress someone like that. She didn’t care who or what was outside Uruk, so she hadn’t considered the powers hidden within other kingdoms; that was the kind of selfish person she was.

As Mordred steadily made their way to Britain, several detours had stopped them. Wrong turns, as they were traveling alone with only their memory to guide them, happened in abundance. It was making Ishtar antsy—she wanted her revenge and she wanted it _now_ , damn it. She was sick of seeing these kings bond, though it would make it more satisfying to tear them apart.

Ereshkigal already wasn’t happy with her for forcing her hand into reviving Mordred. She couldn’t count on any more favors from her.

All she could do was wait on the edge of her seat for the sword to pierce its target.


	14. Chapter 14

Morgan wept at the loss of her child, then curiously, felt the tides of time reverse and felt their presence in the world once more.

It was unusual, but not unwelcome. The gods of a distant land had mercy or vengeance within them, and though Morgan could not see their faces or make offerings in their names, she had to thank them in some way or another. That brought about the plan to seal Gilgamesh’s clairvoyance. Knowing her child to be on a war path, if such a scheme was foreseen, it might as well be over as soon as it started. As Gilgamesh and Arthur traveled across Europe, Morgan set her trap.

It took deep delving into research before she found something that could block foresight, and even that was risky. It took sacrifice and things perfected down to the last detail. Mordred must succeed, it was the will of _gods_ that they did so! They were alive because something was left undone, something of fate not yet written.

Morgan had cursed Gilgamesh—thoroughly and utterly, unable to see the future so long as he was in Britain’s boundaries. That was as far as her magic would stretch, and that alone was a tight fit. All of it hinged on him not going home.

All she had to do was influence the right person to suggest to Arthur he stay for a year. It barely even needed her whispers.

There was a sharp pounding on her door. Damn it, she thought—she thought she was well hidden after the Uruk soldiers had raided. Furthermore, the voices ordering her to open up was none other than Sir Bedivere and Sir Galahad.

It didn’t matter if they seized her or killed her, she thought. Her magic was already in place. Mordred was still on their way. Nothing could change those two things, even with her death.

Magic eerily floated in smoke from her palms, beckoning them to come in, ready to be taken with a fight.

\--

“It won’t be long before we’re married.”

“…” Arthur nodded silently. The topic hadn’t been on his mind but at the same time, it loomed whenever Gilgamesh brought it up.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. The prospect of marrying you doesn’t disturb me anymore.”

“Oh?” Gilgamesh laughed haughtily. “Don’t tell me you’re coming around to me?”

“I am, actually.” Arthur crossed his arms on the windowsill, peering out of his room. “You’ve changed, Gilgamesh. Arguably for the better. I’m surprised you’ve made so much progress. What made you do so?”

“Don’t be stupid. I haven’t changed. It’s my perspective that has shifted since coming here. Besides, you need to make more changes for yourself.”

Arthur turned towards him. “What does that mean?”

“You need to give less, Arthur. Take more. And I’m impressed you’ve been doing as much. Taking more time to stabilize your kingdom, arguing me down until you get what you want—but you still give too much.” Gilgamesh took his spot by his side and leaned in to whisper. “I’ve felt your kiss on my forehead at night. You’re relenting a little too quickly again.”

Arthur bristled, frowning. “I—was just expressing gratitude, nothing more.”

“At a time where you thought no one would see it? Funny way to express gratitude.”

He had him there. There was nothing Arthur could do but look away, conflicted by his own feelings. He had no intention of letting Gilgamesh’s words swoon him over again, but at the same time, there was a desire to want to _like_ Gilgamesh, and as he changed, it was hard not to. If they were to be married, Arthur didn’t want it to be a one-sided arrangement where Arthur merely put up with Gilgamesh’s wants—that just put them back at square one. So perhaps he had been actively trying to push Gilgamesh into having a good side—so what if it worked?

“Do you still love me, Gilgamesh?”

“Of course I do,” Admitting it held more weight now, though Arthur might not be able to tell the change in tone. “and in taking you back home, I intend to prove it to you beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

“I already believe you, there’s no need for that.”

“Do you love me, Arthur?”

“I--…” Arthur paused, before answering honestly. “I want to.”

“Hmph! At least you’re not trying to get on my good side. Progress. Anyone naturally wants to love their partner. I suppose I have more to prove to you?”

“Not necessarily…” Arthur went on. “I think you’ve proven quite a bit since coming here.”

“Then what’s the wait for?”

“Time…” Arthur said, quietly. “Time cannot be forced. It just needs to pass. But I will tell you this, Gilgamesh: you’ve become someone I want to protect, that I am indebted to, that I wish to see the future of. I suppose you can call that a kind of love.”

Gilgamesh paused before speaking. “I want to retry that kiss. The last time I kissed you, I was preying on your vulnerabilities. I twisted your words in my favor. You were just admitting you were attracted to me, and I took advantage of it. I want to see how you handle it now.”

“You’re _so_ charming,” Arthur rolled his eyes. Gilgamesh really was admitting the truth, but the truth wasn’t so glamorous. Nonetheless, he didn’t refuse him. Gilgamesh tilted his head and Arthur met him halfway.

It was a chaste, unpromising kiss, but sincere in its own right. It lasted for only a few moments before Arthur pulled away, biting his own lower lip gently and thinking it through. Gilgamesh appreciated it thoroughly, able to taste Arthur’s honesty through it; his reluctance but clear conscience in doing so. No wine on his lips, no need backing it, no bartering for his sword, either—it might as well have been their first kiss, for how cheap the first two were.

“… hmm.”

“What is it, Gilgamesh?”

“I could get used to that.”

Arthur looked away. “You might as well, if we’re going to be married.”

“What was your marriage like before? You’re treating it like such a business exchange that I have to wonder if I’m missing out on something.”

“… it was a good marriage for as long as it was an honest one.” Arthur admitted quietly. “I don’t know how long that was, but I had no trouble loving her.”

“And will you do the same for me?”

“You, I have a bit of trouble with.” Arthur sighed. “But… I see it happening, so long as you stay the course. I love your potential, Gilgamesh. I can see the king you’re becoming, and I can love him, so long as I see it in action.”

“… how boring of an answer.” Gilgamesh scoffed, but he knew it was true. Arthur would have to see how he’d act in Uruk before casting his final judgment. At the same time, he saw cracks in his armor—the kiss on his forehead at night, for one, betrayed that Arthur really did want to love him, or at least show love to him, whatever the difference was.

One of the knights had clambered into the room suddenly, earning both of their attentions.

“King Arthur! Morgan le Fay is dead!”

“What…?” The shock on his face betrayed no relief at those words. For Morgan to have been killed—“How, where?”

“Sir Galahad and Sir Bedivere found her whereabouts. They did battle and she was slain. However, there were runes all over her house… witchcraft and spellwork everywhere. We have reason to believe from her notes that she was the cause of Gilgamesh’s failing foresight.”

Gilgamesh, of course, still couldn’t see any bit of the future, so the fact that she was no longer alive helped him in no way. “Mongrels! Why didn’t you capture her and force her to undo her spell?”

“Sh—she was fighting them. They had no other choice but to kill her.”

“Idiots! Fools! If she was blocking something in my foresight then there’s something on the horizon that she must’ve been planning! Something she could have obviously told us—if we got her to talk!” Gilgamesh was ready to shoot the messenger, but Arthur held him back.

“In her notes, was there any remedy to his condition? Or hint about what was coming?”

“No… but we’re still searching her hideout. There could yet be something!”

“Take us there, immediately.” Gilgamesh demanded. “We will not be unprepared!”

\--

“You wish to kill the king of Uruk?”

Lancelot’s surroundings were not up to his usual tastes—a small house in Paris was where he resided now, living a humble life with Guinevere. She’d been stolen away in the chaos that followed Gilgamesh’s siege, and they had pawned everything of value to buy this house and the food on their table. It was no life befitting a knight and an ex-queen, but it was the only one they could afford. She had cut her hair in an effort to become unrecognizable, and Lancelot had stored away his armor in favor of workman’s clothes.

Mordred sat opposite of him at his table, having sought him out after hearing a few hints. “I don’t merely wish it, I’m going to do it. He’s betrothed to King Arthur, and he’s killed me once.”

“I don’t know if I believe that…” Lancelot rested on arm on the table. If this Mordred was truly undead, wouldn’t something show it? Furthermore, people didn’t just rise from death out of nothing. All of this talk of pagan gods made Mordred sound insane. Furthermore, Lancelot had betrayed his king, but that did not mean he hated him.

It was still wise to hear Mordred out.

“I was given Genever as a gift from Ishtar.” Mordred proudly laid out the sword on the table. “I named it after Guinevere. It’s also—”

“An anagram of revenge. You’re a little too on the nose.” Lancelot cleared his throat in clear disturbance. “I think your assessment of Arthur going along with it pleasantly is wrong. And I think pursuing a pagan goddess’ errand is a mistake if that story is true.”

“I can’t… squander what I’ve been given. I understand if you don’t support me, Lancelot, but I was hoping to find an ally in you.”

“I served Arthur nobly until he decided to execute his Queen. Even then, when I pursued a relationship with her, I was betraying him. There was no good ending for me, but I would be a fool to take up arms against him again. I’ve gotten the best ending I possibly could—living in obscurity away from Camelot with the woman I love. I wouldn’t risk it for anything. You’re on your own, Mordred.”

Mordred looked at him scornfully but gave no more pressure. “I’ll be on my way.” They picked up the sword sitting on the table, and Lancelot’s eyes followed it carefully. “One way or another, I’m sure you’ll get word on what happens next.”

As Mordred left, Lancelot turned to the ex-queen, who had been listening quietly to their conversation.

“Do you still have it, Guinevere?”

She paused, remembering. “I do.”

“I’m going to Britain, then. Pack it up for me.”

“Don’t—” She begged. He smiled softly, patting her arm.

“This may be the one thing I can do for the king’s sake, for his forgiveness. I’ll be back before you know it.”

\--

Blood spilled across the rotted wooden floor of this shack, unbecoming of a child of King Ulster’s. To think that she’d been hiding here all this time. The stench of death filled the room with her sacrifices still hanging on the walls. Arthur’s nose scrunched up just at the sight of it.

Still, he was here for a reason.

Flipping through the books she had written in, all of it was either in code or chickenscratch, barely readable and practical nonsense. Gilgamesh looked for any sign of what could undo his curse, but all he got were estranged notes about ‘fog’. There was a fog on his mind that wouldn’t clear so long as the fog around him didn’t, and who the hell knew what that meant?

“Nonsense.” Gilgamesh threw another book onto the pile. “If she was really behind this, then she must know something is coming.”

“Lancelot…?” Arthur swung a guess in the dark. “We could send a few knights to survey what’s happening in France, to see if he’s amassing forces.” It didn’t occur to him at all it could be coming from Uruk—Mordred was _dead_. Or should be.

“You won’t leave Camelot, that much is certain.” Gilgamesh ordered.

“I have a right to fight alongside my people…!”

“Everything we’ve done so far is to keep you alive. Do you think I’m quitting now?”

“I am just as capable as you in battle!”

At that, Gilgamesh laughed. He’d like to see Arthur stand up to the Bull of Heaven! What could he and his little sword do that his Gate of Babylon and Ea couldn’t? Isn’t that why stomping him in battle was so easy? Nonsense, he’d be the one protecting Arthur, and there was no way around that. Gilgamesh still reeled from the idea of losing something precious to him again, by the whims of fate, no less—he would not stand to lose Arthur. Nor would he let himself die in such a ridiculous way. Lancelot could do whatever he wanted—he’d die all the same.

Still, leaping without knowing for sure seemed foolhardy. As much as Gilgamesh pressed in his mind, he couldn’t escape the fog that Morgan had set. His instincts, though, cried out against the idea that Lancelot was to blame. Lancelot would die if he tried to enter Britain again, with Uruk and Camelot’s forces combined. It would be a fool’s errand.

“Wait,” He ordered. “Shouldn’t you be thinking a different way? What would Lancelot have to gain from invading now? Furthermore, who in France would help him now?”

“His honor probably prohibits him from giving up,” Arthur mused. “Or… maybe Guinevere is alive, and he has no reason to pursue us?”

“That puts us at square one.”

“All we can do is wait and see.” Arthur said quietly.

“Are you serious? Only fools ‘wait and see’. We will prepare.”

Arthur nodded, looking over the room one last time before giving the order that the entire shack be burned to the ground, for the sake of everything that died within its walls. Only useful materials and hints as to how to clear Gilgamesh’s curse should be taken.

“If only Merlin were here.”

“Who?”

“An old friend. Perhaps the one person who could get us out of this mess.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned…” Gilgamesh put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s that you can’t count on people just to show up and make everything better. You have to make up for their absence.”

“True…” Arthur said, though his voice still betrayed hope. “True…”

\--

Mordred crossed the English Channel as stealthily as they could.

Dressed in new armor, with a helmet to disguise them, they paid their toll and pondered the rest of their plan. Slaying Gilgamesh would be a difficult task, with that strange gate he could open—but Mordred had a sword that need only strike once. There was the issue of war that could break out, though, and that was bothering Mordred. If Uruk’s forces learned that their king had died on British soil, war would definitely happen.

Bring it on, Mordred thought. It’d probably make Ishtar happy, wouldn’t it?

Ishtar…

… Ishtar was probably enjoying every single result that could happen. Mordred didn’t serve her but had a debt to owe her. One of two kings would certainly die at the hands of their blade.

Genever practically ached to bury its blade into someone. Whenever Mordred held it, they always felt compelled to swing it, as if the blade had a mind of its own. It had only grown stronger the closer they got to Britain. Mordred wasn’t sure they liked the itch of the blade’s bloodlust, as if its own will was overpowering theirs.

Soon enough it’d be over with, they thought. Soon enough.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if this sucks i'm actually really sorry :(

Mordred wasn’t at all aware of the sword’s influence over them, but that was Ishtar’s intention.

What good would revenge be if the person went back on their vow for it? It would be worthless, that’s what—She had little clue why some dead woman in Britain had helped her along her quest, but she could hazard a guess. Kings had enemies in all places. In a way, they were all working together towards one goal. Ishtar’s plan had been sloppy, really—going up against a clairvoyant with a plan that could be seen through in seconds had it not been for Morgan’s interference. She just sort of counted on Mordred’s tenacity to do the work for her.

As Mordred rode through the rolling hills, Ishtar’s budding excitement couldn’t be contained. Pouring herself a goblet of wine in her throne of stars, she watched and waited.

\--

Lancelot was back in his homeland, and he could feel hostility from all sides within it.

If he were captured here, he’d be sure to die—a traitor to his country and kingdom, yet he knew he had to make this pilgrimage. His horse was swift, but Mordred could be quicker to the draw. If he owed his King one last thing, it’d be this… the parcel strapped to his back would be worth delivering quickly and quietly—he could trust Galahad to deliver it and hopefully, not turn him in. Though if he were taken in, it’d be justice all the same.

Britain couldn’t fall, not after being saved from the brink of destruction _by_ destruction. If his loyalty was worth anything, anything at all, he’d get there in time.

\--

“Take caution, young one.”

A woman in a shawl called out to Bedivere. Normally one to press on with his day, he’d just gotten done going through Morgan’s books and all of it had put him slightly on edge. Forcing a smile, he turned to the old crone and smiled.

“What is it, my lady?”

“A storm of red is arriving soon… one who the king has slain has revived, and rides to Camelot.”

“What…? What are you talking about?”

She tapped her head with her shaking finger. “Just because the new king can’t see it doesn’t mean we’ve all lost our gifts. Morgan made a crucial mistake, but the king is still in danger.”

Bedivere blinked, paused, and then offered his arm. “Would you come with me? I think we have a lot to discuss.”

The feeble old woman took his arm, but when Bedivere faced forward, he felt her hand slip out and as he turned to face her, she was already gone. Like a ghost on the mists, as if she were never there at all. He couldn’t be hallucinating, and yet—

He had to get back to the castle.

\--

No one was quite sure what to make of it, but no one was stupid enough to say Bedivere was just imagining things either.

“A warning…” Gilgamesh pondered, leaning against the wall. “It doesn’t seem out of place for the spirits here to extend one. A storm of red.”

“I have many rivals that I’ve slain, but…” Arthur began, but Gilgamesh shook his head. There was no proof in either guess.

“… did she specifically say King Arthur?” Gilgamesh asked, suddenly.

“… now that you mention it, she only ever said ‘king’.”

“You’re useless,” Gilgamesh scolded Bedivere. “It’s obviously Mordred, then.”

“They’re alive…?” Arthur’s eyes lit up at the very idea. The child he’d never known had somehow survived the mortal blow and came back? It was then that he was hit with a sinking feeling, a resolute knowledge that this couldn’t possibly be a good thing. Mordred was the agent of chaos in Arthur’s story, their survival was both a blessing and a curse.

“Why else would _my_ clairvoyance be blocked? It’s a threat to me, not you.”

This left them at an uncomfortable stalemate.

If this was true—and they were going off of some old crone’s word if it were—Arthur both had a new chance to save his child and die at their hands. Even so, he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t ignore the one hopeful chance that Mordred could be reasoned with, that with everything settled, things could go on happily.

Meanwhile, Gilgamesh knew that killing someone usually left them pissed off at the person who did so. It would really be more convenient if Mordred had stayed dead.

“How would Mordred be alive? Is there anyone in your homeland that can do such a thing?”

“I’m not friendly with the gods there,” was all Gilgamesh had to say, succinctly.

“Well, we can reason with them.” Arthur wasn’t going to be dissuaded from hope. Hope that everything could turn out okay… even in the face of something as unnatural as a revival of a fated enemy.

“Did you ever stop to consider that the woman warned us because it is worth _warning about_? Do you think Mordred—or whoever this threat is—will seriously want nothing more than to live in your storybook castle happily ever after?”

“And I won’t be tricked into thinking that everything has to end in bloodshed,” Arthur countered, standing tall against Gilgamesh’s doubts. “We must find whatever this threat is, and if it’s Mordred, then we will make sure no more blood needs to be spilled.”

The cogs were turning in Gilgamesh’s head. Could Ereshkigal have done this as revenge? She had plenty to hate him for, but she was bound to her rules very tightly. She wasn’t the type to pettily revive someone just because Gilgamesh had pissed her off—if that were true, legions of undead armies would be coming after his head. So it had to be something else…

Mordred was meant to kill Arthur. That had been bugging him since before he crossed into Britain.

If he dealt with this silently, without Arthur noticing Mordred ever coming back… who could say that old woman wasn’t just mad and Mordred was still simply dead? As the Knights of the Round Table argued amongst themselves, Gilgamesh slipped out of the room and back into his armor. He was sorry, Arthur, truly—to go against your wishes like this again and you might never forgive him, but Gilgamesh had decided long ago that Arthur was worth more to him than the lives of others.

Even if Arthur didn’t agree, that meant someone had to be selfish for him. Someone had to protect his life. Someone had to see the dark cloud before seeing the silver lining.

\--

“One can practically smell insanity on you.”

Mordred wasn’t hard to find. They were practically on a warpath, leaving behind a trail of bodies for anyone who dared stop them on their way to Camelot. They were growing warped, strange. This wasn’t the noble, if unhinged soldier that Gilgamesh cut down back in Uruk. This was someone who craved blood, their sword hand shaking as a trail of nonsensical gibberish left their lips.

Gilgamesh knew to keep his distance, letting his Gates of Babylon fight for him.

Still, Genever knocked aside anything that came close. Axe after sword after dagger, each one fended away from their armor. It was almost as if the sword was moving first and their arm simply followed through on the motion. Each clash of blades left Mordred unmarked, ever advancing.

Something is wrong with them, Gilgamesh’s eyes squinted, trying to remember if he’d ever seen that sword before. It was never in his treasury. The lapis lazuli around the hilt seemed familiar…

Gilgamesh was entirely on the offensive, and all of Mordred’s strikes were dedicated to defending, and no parry ever missed. The sword was moving on its own—or at least, something was jerking around Mordred like a puppet to each blow against their armor, masterfully and artfully avoiding certain death.

“ _This isn’t good_ ,” Gilgamesh thought, not yet breaking a sweat but feeling like he might soon enough. “ _I have to warn Arthur_.”

\--

Of course he’d go it alone.

Arthur directed a search party in the direction where guards had seen Gilgamesh headed, charging headfirst after him. He should’ve known the moment that Mordred was brought up that he’d go off on his own…! Trying to pull a fast one on him won’t work this time! The sound of steady hoofbeats against grass were all he could hear until he picked up on the noise of metal striking metal, and all of a sudden, he was tumbling off of his horse.

A blade had cleaved clean through the side of it, Arthur struggling to stand up. Several ancient weapons littered the ground. This was their battleground.

“I order you to stop!”

Arthur charged in with Excalibur, deflecting one of Gilgamesh’s blades aimed at Mordred. Gilgamesh cursed beneath his breath.

“Did you think you could kill them a second time?!” Arthur sounded hurt, betrayed even.

“I— Arthur, look at them!”

Arthur turned to where Mordred stood, shaking and uttering more nonsense as if possessed, holding Genever aloft as if to wait for the next strike. Arthur walked up to them, slowly, and shook their shoulders.

“Mordred? Mordred, get a hold of yourself!”

“F- father…” The wheeze of a voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. Arthur tilted their helmet up, seeing that they were one in the same.

“What happened to you…?”

Mordred, it seemed, couldn’t answer.

“We have to take them back to the castle. Now. Gilgamesh, please… you can bind them, can’t you?”

“Get away from them, Arthur.”

“ _Gilgamesh_.”

Reluctantly, Gilgamesh brought out his chains and secured them around Mordred’s arms, placing the hand holding Genever behind their back. Strangely, they wouldn’t let go.

“Come on,” Gilgamesh wrapped another chain around the blade, ripping it from their hands, and Mordred let out a _beastly_ wail, as if being skinned alive. Arthur stumbled back, seeing the delirious look on Mordred’s face as something unholy, bizarre, and frightening. However they’d been brought back, it was clear it hadn’t been right.

“Come on,” Arthur urged quietly, to the both of them. “Come along.”

\--

"Take it," Lancelot urged, quietly.

Galahad looked up at his father, unsure whether to yell or thank him. There wouldn't be time for both later, Lancelot had to flee the country as soon as possible.

Galahad merely took the package and gave only one look back before heading back to the castle.

\--

The most peculiar thing about the blade was how it pushed for revenge.

Mordred sat in their cell plucking out strands of golden hair, unable to quell the sounds in their head. Ishtar’s poisoned-tipped tongue made it seem like this was a quest for justice, but that blade, that blade… as soon as they set foot in Britain, everything got **noisy** , and like instinct, the only way to quiet it was to kill the noise. Unlike Gilgamesh, whose clairvoyance was silenced the moment he entered Britain, Mordred was now besieged by noise and thoughts and flashes, and they had been so close—

They wanted revenge, right? The sane part of Mordred had seen how Britain was doing just fine in the wake of its siege, and as soon as their resolve started shaking, the noise started flaring up again. It was the bang of an ancient drum on the steps of sacrifice, begging to bury the sword to the hilt in the body of the person who wronged them. It had taken so much effort just to stammer Father's name when he held their shoulders and shook them and not stab him.

Something was seriously wrong with them, wasn’t there?

Mordred felt both like the executioner and the executed, and as they picked the lock on their cell, they really weren’t thinking of what they were doing. Snapping the neck of the guard nearby, it didn’t matter that this was one of Mordred’s old training buddies from back in the day, who’d been sent to watch them as a courtesy. All Mordred could do was pick up Genever from the wall and start up the hallways, completely unarmored and dressed down.

Like a lightning bolt that could find the metal rod, they knew where to go. Up the steps, down the hall, past the grand oak door…

All that it would take was lifting Genever and letting the sword do the rest.

Make no mistake, Mordred aimed for Gilgamesh, but the lightning fast reflexes of Arthur were too quick to be beat.

Drip, drip.

Suddenly, the noise quieted.

Mordred was back to themselves, stabbing a sword straight through Arthur’s armor. The first and only thing they could think to do was take several deep breaths before screaming in horror at their own action.

Ishtar laughed, somewhere in the heavens.

Gilgamesh knocked Mordred back as he held onto Arthur, collapsing to the floor with him as he screamed for someone to come quickly.

“Damn you…!” He gasped, holding onto Arthur’s face and propping up his body. “What on earth would have you throw yourself in front of me! I could _take_ it!”

Arthur was only just catching up to speed on what had happened—he’d seen Mordred from the corner of his eye with a sword, saw them rush, and pushed Gilgamesh out of the way. That would explain the sharp pain in his chest, and the blade sticking out of it. Arthur grimaced, though it looked a bit like a smile.

“I don’t know… I guess I was afraid to see you die.”

“Idiot! Mongrel!” Gilgamesh said it all between clenched teeth. They had gotten so far, and he had known, instinctively, that Arthur had to die by the hands of Mordred. That was what fate dictated, that was what Arthur was meant for—a meaningless death at the hands of his own bastard. That was what Gilgamesh fought against! That was what Gilgamesh tried to crush! That’s what he did all of this for—only for Arthur to…

“I guess you were right,” Arthur choked, his mouth tasting bitter and coppery. “I’m sorry, Gilgamesh.”

“Of course I’m right… I’ve always been right.” Anything, anything to keep him talking, anything to keep him in this world as long as he could have him. He was flashing back to when he lost his dearest friend, and he thought he swore this would never happen again. He thought he would protect Arthur. “Stay alive, damn it. You’re still alive…”

Arthur breathed to remind himself he still could, reaching up to touch Gilgamesh’s cheek. “Still alive, huh…”

“You’re coming back with me to Uruk,” He ordered, as if commands could tie him to the living world. “Britain is clearly too dangerous for you.”

“Ha…”

“Say something. More.”

“Tell Mordred I’m sorry.”

Arthur turned his head away from Gilgamesh, to the shaking form against the wall, voice croaking softly. “No child should have to see this. Tell them I forgive them.”

“If you’re talking this clearly, then it couldn't have pierced something vital! You’re going to survive! Just hang on! You would’ve been dead by now if--”

“Gilgamesh.”

“…?”

“I think I would have liked life with you.”

“You’re delirious…”

Arthur fell silent after that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I waffled over rewriting this chapter haha.
> 
> One more chapter and then an epilogue!

Merlin took off the shawl she’d worn into the town outside Camelot and discarded it gingerly on a nearby cushion, which turned out to be Cath Palug, curled up into a ball. It squeaked indignantly at her.

“It’s not like I can leave often,” She huffed. “And I had a role to play, _so naturally_ , I had to play it.”

Flicking her white hair over her shoulder, the clairvoyant mage made her way to the observatory in her tower. It was by no means a conventional observatory—it was meant to observe humans, after all. Not space.

“They gave me a scare, wouldn’t you say?” She asked no one in particular.

\--

Cold sweat clung to Arthur’s body as he felt himself stir.

“…?”

He should be dead.

There was a funny thing about miracles and time. If you disrupted the flow of fate, in the face of everything destined to go wrong, you’re likely to cause more ripples than you think. Guinevere, tied to the stake, had been given a gift stolen from a lake to hold onto as she waited for her rescuer. She should have burned to death by the time Lancelot arrived, but the flames merely lapped her form like waves. She was able to sneak off during the siege as her ropes burned away. That was the gift passed back to Lancelot, then Galahad, then back to Arthur, Avalon’s rightful owner.

He was hanging by the last thread as the scabbard was passed back into his body.

For Gilgamesh, it was strange.

Everything he fought for came down to the happenstance of Guinevere possessing Avalon. If it weren’t for that, fate would never have changed. If it weren’t for Lancelot still holding loyalty to Arthur, his ever-giving king, all of this would be lost. Gilgamesh fought with every bit of his spirit to keep Arthur alive, but only random chance had succeeded. He felt like he finally broke through water after swimming upward for a long time. This time, he’d changed history for good.

Arthur sat up, and immediately asked, “Where’s Mordred?”

“In the dunge—”

Arthur stood up and wasted no time. This time, Gilgamesh was unafraid to let him go. With Avalon, he couldn’t be hurt any longer.

Mordred’s arms were bound in heavy chains as tears dripped onto the shackles that bound their hands. Arthur approached the cell and opened it.

“…! Fathe—”

“We have a lot to talk about.”

“I’m so sorry, I—”

“There’s a lot to be sorry for,” Arthur said, the stern voice of a king resonating through the room. “A child plots treason against his father not once, but twice—carrying around a cursed weapon and aiming to kill a king that has unified our kingdom. Everything inside of me is screaming to have you hanged, but… I want to listen to you, Mordred. You are my child. I at least need to hear your word first.”

\--

Gilgamesh simply watched as Arthur unlocked Mordred’s shackles and talked to them about everything—about what they knew from Gilgamesh’s clairvoyance, about the circumstances of their birth, about how Arthur had never known and how he’d recognize them from now on. It was more than Mordred deserved, in Gilgamesh’s eyes, but he saw Arthur’s plight in his actions. This was the final thing he needed to do to ascertain peace, even if he had to punish Mordred for all the trouble they caused.

Genever was shattered the moment Mordred admitted to its origins—Ishtar, Gilgamesh thought both bitterly and triumphantly. They overcame her influence embedded in a sword, and she’d be a fool to try again. The Knights discussed whether Mordred should stand trial or not, but Arthur handed down the sentence in manual labor and a strip of rank—forcibly removed the Knights of the Round Table, a _dreadful_ thing for a proud knight, but still to serve their country. Mordred wasn’t acting under their own mind for part of it, but had carried out their revenge nonetheless, with intent to kill Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh fixed Arthur with an interesting stare; to pardon Mordred was to insult Gilgamesh, and yet, Arthur handed down the sentence without any concern for him. This ‘pardon’ was pure selfishness on Arthur’s part—he wanted Mordred to live. To ask them to die twice would be too much. This is why Gilgamesh only looked on quietly with a judging stare.

Mordred was silent. Receiving this much attention from Father, after _stabbing_ him no less, felt like a strange dream they had yet to wake from. Arthur was recognizing them as his proper child.

“It means I’m going to leave you with an important task, Mordred.”

“…?”

“I have to return to Uruk. I made a promise.” Arthur gently patted their shoulder. “You’ll serve your punishment by watching over Camelot while I’m gone.”

Mordred bristled. “You’re still going to marry him--?!” The temper that got them killed in the first place flared up once more.

“Of course. Our countries are still united, that much hasn’t changed.”

“But Father…!”

“You’ve caused Gilgamesh enough trouble.” Arthur had no trouble slipping into the tone of a scolding parent, as if the role had been made for him. “Apologize properly to him at once.”

Mordred turned stiffly to Gilgamesh, whose arms were crossed. Mordred crossed their own and clenched their teeth, enduring the embarrassment of the whole situation. “I nearly killed Father… I tried to kill you twice… there isn’t enough time in the world to tell you how sorry I am, especially when all that would have ended it was you telling me about my destiny, and… things…”

“I should be thanking you,” Gilgamesh smirked, so relieved at everything that he could take this in good humor. “Were it not for your death, we wouldn’t have headed back to Camelot when we did, and I wouldn’t have gotten to know your father as closely as I do now. You were useful. Be grateful I can see you as such.”

 _What a stuck up bastard…!_ Mordred thought. Still, they turned their grimace into a smile forcefully.

“Now then, I should probably speak to him in private.”

Mordred seemed reluctant to leave Arthur’s side, but did so nonetheless. They and the Knights left Arthur’s room and the two kings to themselves.

“Really…?” Arthur laughed, looking at him. “Holding me on my deathbed? Begging me to stay alive?”

“What did you expect me to do?” Gilgamesh huffed. “I’ve done nothing but sacrifice for you. To have that slip out between my fingers was…”

“Was what?”

“…”

“…”

“… I was afraid of losing you.”

That vulnerable admission was what Arthur wanted to hear. “Are you still afraid?”

“Of course. I’ll always fear losing you.”

Arthur took both of Gilgamesh’s hands into his. “I think I saw the life we were supposed to have flash before my eyes before I went under.”

“Oh?”

“It was nice,” Arthur’s hands fidgeted, thumb rubbing against the side of Gilgamesh’s hand. “I don’t know how to put this…” He exhaled, softly. “Those last few moments felt right. It might have been the blood loss, but I felt right at home in your arms. I just regret what I told you.”

“… about liking life with me?”

“I should have thanked you for everything instead.” The natural progression of their relationship had lead to this moment. “Everything you did until the blade pierced my chest, it felt like it made sense. I understood how far you were trying to reach me, you loved—love me so desperately. I’ve never been loved like that, not really, not honestly. I wish I could have put it properly into words in case I really had died…”

 “… I understood.” Gilgamesh said quietly.

“Really?” Arthur smiled, despite himself. “I’m glad, then.”

“… you’re mine, Arthur.” Gilgamesh murmured, finally feeling like he could own the words as they came out of his mouth. “You belong to me. With me.”

“I know…”

“So you’re finally accepting it.”

“I could still be woozy from losing blood, don’t get your hopes up.”

“Nonsense! Avalon can heal even the worst wounds, can’t it? Then I must accept you’re both sound of mind and body.” Gilgamesh was pleased with himself after the stress he’d endured in the last few hours, trying to balance himself with the highs and lows. The very worst had passed—now he only had to worry about marrying Arthur and ruling his country. _Finally_.

“To think Lancelot would want to protect me in the end…”

“He was still loyal to you. He was just put in the position of having to choose between two loves.”

“I suppose.”

“… don’t look so despondent, Arthur. You did what you had to, and it worked out for the best.”

“Sweet words, coming from you.”

“I know, it doesn’t fit me one bit.” Gilgamesh mocked in return, making Arthur laugh. Gods above, to hear him laugh! Had he only heard it once before? It was beautiful. Everything about Arthur now was more beautiful for having nearly lost him, and for gaining his peace. The rose colored blush in his cheeks, the smile on his face, all of it belonged to Gilgamesh and he’d treasure it properly from now on.

“Will we be safe? Will Ishtar—”

“She’ll have learned her lesson by now. Or, gods willing, she might have been entertained enough with my fear to let it go. I’m sure _you’ve_ heard the last of her. Me, on the other hand…”

“Never a dull moment.”

“I should be saying that to you!”

“Anyway, I… would like to spend some time away with you. Rather selfishly, I might add. Britain could use me right now, but I’d rather go and get this wedding over with.”

“Over with? You make it sound like a chore.”

“On the contrary, I’m looking forward to it. After everything, I need a break.”

“You look like it.”

“ _Thanks_.”

\--

“Finally.”

The haze that clouded Gilgamesh’s clairvoyance had been lifted as soon as the two had left the country. He was eagerly stretching his power as far as he could push it. The future had been changed for real this time, no longer did he feel the threat of Mordred as the chosen slayer of Arthur. It did make some things hard to see, but others easier, like when he could pester Arthur for attention and when he’d be most likely to give it.

(He had to promise him not to abuse such a power.)

The time getting to Uruk felt oddly short compared to the long trip it took to get to Britain, perhaps because of how much the mood had changed. Gilgamesh didn’t know what to do with an affectionate Arthur, it was so different from what he was used to over the past few months, but he was finally learning what Guinevere must have had once upon a time—Arthur pausing to pick a wild flower and put it behind his ear, sometimes just catching him staring with the most loving gaze…

Holding someone as they nearly died did something to them, it felt like. It made Gilgamesh indignant—he was the one who was supposed to be in control, making _Arthur_ swoon instead of the other way around.

The gates to Uruk opened and a shower of white petals rained down on both of them as they came in through the gate, a welcoming gift prepared by Siduri. The legend of how Arthur barely escaped death in King Gilgamesh’s arms had already made it to them, even as Gilgamesh would retell it to anyone who would hear it. Arthur could look at Uruk for once and not feel any kind of dread or homesickness.

It was the same as his first day here. They took him, stripped him of his armors, and shoved him into the perfumed, cloudy-white pool-sized bath heated by coals. This time, though, they left him alone to clean up himself. He was a king, after all, finally recognized as such.

The silks they had prepared for him he could put on with ease now, and he needed no permission to go see Gilgamesh. He went to his quarters, where it all had started.

“… Gilgamesh?”

He was out on the balcony, clothed in his homeland’s robes, watching and thinking.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“I’ll have to head back to Camelot at some point,” He reminded him, gently. “You said I could go back and forth, remember?”

“I remember.” The wind lightly rustled his hair as he kept his gaze on the city. “We’ll have our ceremony tomorrow. Then, I’ll keep you for a few weeks…”

“Clairvoyance?”

Gilgamesh nodded. “… before letting you go yet again.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Trust me…” Gilgamesh stretched languidly. “The wait will be arduous. The return will be all the sweeter.”

Arthur said nothing, this time reaching to kiss him. Gilgamesh let him, hands on his shoulders and held him in place. The long distance in their marriage would try his patience, but it was the price he had to pay for Arthur. Arthur closed his eyes and deepened the kiss, trying to reach to Gilgamesh’s depths, to uncover more of him in a way that was sincere this time, neither hesitant or unsure. Gilgamesh could only return the favor.

They broke apart for a moment. “What would you have done if I died?”

Gilgamesh closed his eyes, smirking, consulting his clairvoyance. “I would have sought out the Pair Dadeni in order to revive you. Mordred might’ve come along.”

Arthur cocked his head. “You really weren’t going to let me go no matter what?”

“Of course not! Look at how much I’ve invested in you. I could never let you go.”

“…” There was a swell in Arthur’s heart, something warm and hopeful, something that felt like love and a little more. Something that felt like a destiny that needed to be rewritten in their favor.

“What’s with that perplexed look?”

“I’ve never… met someone like you before. I…”

“… are you really so surprised?  You are brilliant, Arthur. A star that streaks across the sky only once in a million years. You just so happened to collide with mine.”

“Because you made it so,” Arthur insisted before kissing him again, and Gilgamesh was happy to drown out any other poetic thoughts with that kiss.

\--

Arthur was married.

(Technically, his marriage to Guinevere was never annulled, but no one here was counting it.)

The celebration could be felt throughout the entire country. The feast lasted a week. Arthur was content to enjoy himself at Gilgamesh’s side, whether in private or in public. He shared his wine, his food, his bed, properly this time. This indulgence felt like so much, but it felt well earned, as if after a brush with death, he _might as well_ enjoy his wedding. Gilgamesh was never prouder nor haughtier than when he announced Arthur as his wife, his king.

Arthur was properly introduced to Gilgamesh’s heirs, small children who would put flower crowns atop his head who couldn’t speak English properly, so he took it upon himself to teach them as he learned Sumerian. Gilgamesh was a strict teacher who was all too happy to correct Arthur’s poor accent and reward good grammar with incentives. He only had a few weeks to learn what he could, but he prided himself on being a fast learner. He was given scrolls to further his studies back home.

Arthur had never been so connected with another person, not Guinevere, not his knights… he could listen to him talk for hours, and he very well might—the thought of leaving had once held so much promise, and now, it almost felt like a regret, but kings had their kingdoms, and had to be there to rule them.

How would he sharpen his wit like a blade on a whetstone without Gilgamesh? He was constantly pushing him, constantly challenging him and his ideals and he _needed_ that, by god he needed that. He needed someone brave enough to challenge him and someone who was bold enough to love him as a king.

He would have to learn how to deal with it in between letters and visits, and one day, he’d have to decide on where he would make his home permanently.

When it came time to saddle up the horses and ride back to Britain, Arthur gave Gilgamesh one last embrace.

“I’ll write. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“I know you will. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Of course not.”

It was a warm sunset casting down shadows as Arthur rode out of town, accompanied by an entourage who would escort him safely to Britain. Gilgamesh watched from a balcony in his palace, until Arthur was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, indistinguishable from the sand.

“Well,” He turned to Siduri, and gave a curt nod. “time to get to work.”


	17. Chapter 17

**7 years later…**

\--

“He’s back!”

The voice belonged to a scruffily blond teenager, someone who didn’t look like he was the prince of his nation. Ur-Nungal was the oldest of his siblings, and looked forward to Arthur’s stays the most. He remembered when he was little all the visits Arthur would make between seasons, and the promise one day he would show him Britain, so far away and so cool sounding. Full of lore that Arthur would tell as stories deep into the night. He was begged to respect his gods, and he did pay his dues at their temples, but the books Arthur brought back for him…

His little sister dared him to race to the front gates, and he was all too happy to take her up on the offer. Every time Arthur returned was a joyous occasion; Uruk had accepted him as a second king, though one who deferred power to their now wise king Gilgamesh. Britain and Uruk sustained one another, but also maintained a degree of independence. A road had practically been worn down between them, making pilgrimages from one kingdom to the other very commonplace.

Gilgamesh’s youngest child was now nearly eight years of age—he’d kept his promise to Bedivere and had no more. That meant though that there were _eleven_ children Arthur could be a stepfather to, which he happily was. He would bring gifts and books that were handwritten by monks for them to practice their English by reading. He had helped take care of the babies along with their mothers, who were still permitted on castle grounds, just not as concubines. He hated to admit it, but he probably played a stronger role in raising them than Gilgamesh did.

Arthur was less immaculate with age, no beard but the stubble that remained of one. Excalibur had slowed his aging process considerably and he was due for long life. He swept the children into his arms as soon as he dismounted his horse, eight of the eleven having rushed out to greet him.

He patted the tops of their heads, listening to their excited flurry of stories he’d missed while he was gone, letting his men take his horse and the belongings he’d packed up to the castle. With the youngest on his shoulders and holding the hand of one of his step-daughters, he passed merchants who would happily wave to the King of Knights, some offering his entourage their finest ale to bring to the castle in celebration of his return.

Arthur had been staying longer with each return trip. The Knights of the Round Table stabilized, they had done well in ruling in his absence. Mordred had been doing better, too. Their jealousy, as prevalent as it was, waned considerably when they saw how happy Gilgamesh had made their father. The question on everyone’s mind was whether Mordred would become heir to the throne of Britain, and Arthur had not yet decided.

Lately, Gilgamesh had not waited at the gates to meet him as he usually did—he was busy! He was running a kingdom with all his energy, and Arthur couldn’t begrudge him for not meeting him every time. He had grown into a fine king, proud and caring of his people. They were past the honeymoon phase that had them rushing to one another and waiting each night for each other, but distance did make the heart grow fonder. Gilgamesh saw Arthur enter the palace walls and told Siduri to finish whatever task he’d been focusing on. The High Priestess was a stressed woman but seemed far happier these days.

“My white rose of Avalon, you finally return to me!” He crowed to Arthur as his children scattered and Arthur set the youngest down. He always mixed up his greeting each time, keeping it fresh. Last time it was ‘my sunrise, the man who walks on the surface of my heart’. Arthur made sure to remember each one.

“My King of Heroes.” Arthur, however, was more traditional. They reached for one another and kissed before pressing their foreheads together in a soft embrace. In the first few years, this exchange was a little more desperate and needy, but they had grown comfortably into peaceful adulthood.

“Come on, then.” Gilgamesh spoke, hand on his arm, leading him back upstairs. “We have lots to discuss.”

\--

“They’ve grown since I left.” Arthur softly commented, taking a seat in Gilgamesh’s meeting room. A large map spread across it, showing allies and enemies alike. After the long trip, Arthur was more than happy to make himself comfortable.

“You’ve only been gone since summer,” Gilgamesh took a seat beside him at the head of the table. “They can’t have changed that much.”

“You should pay more attention…!” Arthur chided gently. “They are your children, after all.”

“I’m teasing you, Arthur. I know they’ve grown. Ur-Nungal has been getting more lessons lately… how is Mordred?”

“The same as ever. Still carries what happened seven years ago as a badge of shame but doing their best to make up for it. I’m… proud of them.”

“Of course you are.”

“How have things been?”

“Prosperous.”

“And how will things… be?”

Asking about his clairvoyance was always difficult, but Gilgamesh was always honest. “We’ll see some wars like I told you. But I don’t foresee either of us falling in battle.”

Arthur wished clairvoyance was enough to stop the conflict, but in truth, Gilgamesh was only one man in charge of one country. He couldn’t stop everything, but he could count on him to intervene when it was possible. After all, Gilgamesh had fought for his very own life.

“I will fight for you, alongside you.”

“I know you will, there’s no need to promise it.”

Arthur stared gently into his eyes, red and slightly inhuman compared to his natural green ones. Softly blinking like a contented cat, he reached for Gilgamesh’s hand and held it.

“I think I might stay for a great deal longer this time.”

“Oh?” Gilgamesh pretended he didn’t know already, thanks to his foresight.

“Yes… it takes a toll on me, Gilgamesh. To see something you’d like or find some topic that I’d love to discuss without you there.” By now, Arthur truly loved him in return, and as a gentle soul who gave everything to his people, his love and the absence of the object of his affection was wearing him down.

“The same goes for me, as well.” Gilgamesh squeezed his hand back. “We will be happy to have you home for a year.”

“You already—”

“Of course.”

Arthur leaned forward. “So you know what I’m going to do next, then?”

“We’ve had this song and dance for years now, Arthur, of course I do.”

“How will I ever surprise you?” Arthur took his face in his hands and kissed his forehead, just above the jewel that rested on it.

“Don’t doubt the power of dependability. Besides, I’m not _always_ using my clairvoyance.”

“I know you don’t.” Arthur gave a sly grin. “But you use it enough to get the upper hand on me.”

Gilgamesh took Arthur’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Do you remember when you first showed me how the British dance? When you were vying to get your sword back from me?”

“I… yes.”

“And how we danced that way again at our wedding?”

“Of course. I could never forget.”

“Show me again. Try as I might, I can never get the steps right, nor do I have a partner for the better part of the year.”

Arthur stood up and pulled Gilgamesh close to him. The difference in their heights was very slight, but it felt like Arthur had grown taller somehow. Perhaps the heel in his boot had gotten bigger—Gilgamesh didn’t want to think about Arthur suddenly being actually taller than him. Nonetheless, Arthur pulled him into a sweeping motion, a dance with elegant steps and slow, warm movements. Gilgamesh had never perfected this dance, but Arthur was always helping him try. He refused to practice with anyone but Arthur himself.

“You’ve gotten better,” Arthur said, cheerily.

“If only from your help.”

He stopped, hand in hand and one on his waist.

“I love you, Gilgamesh.”

“Will you ever cease to remind me? You put it in all of your letters.”

“I should hope not. You should always remind the person you love that you love them.”

“Then… my shooting star, my light shining in the west, my fellow dearest king sitting beside my throne, I love you as well.”

Arthur laughed. “You always have to outdo me!”

“You try it, then.” Gilgamesh nudged him, clearly amused.

“My… beacon between heaven and earth, my wiser half, he who spits death in the face, the reason I stand at all…”

“More.”

Arthur was beside himself, holding back his embarrassed laughter. “The light the gods could not snuff out, he who would change fate, rewrite destiny, and live in spite of the universe changing around him—”

“That’ll do for today,” Gilgamesh was smugly proud, enjoying every moment of it. “You can think of more later.”

“Don’t tell me you have more for me.”

“I have an infinite supply of ways to describe you because you are infinitely interesting, Arthur.”

The tinge on Arthur’s cheek faded just slightly—it was barely there in the first place because with age this teasing had become more entertaining than truly embarrassing. He rewarded him for his kind words with a kiss, this time one of practiced married lovers who had been together for a while, but also one where the separation made them need each other all the more. It lingered for a moment before they split.

“I want to talk to the kids, see how they’ve been doing… may I?”

“Of course. I still have some work to do, so you’re free until this evening.”

“Same time, same place?”

“As always.”

\--

Arthur had played with the royal children long into the evening, had feasted with his royal family and had cleaned himself up and donned the lighter silks that were appropriate for the heat. He was always a bit embarrassed to show off so much skin, as fair as he was—he tended to burn in the sun rather than tan, and the subject of his freckles was a source of teasing from the children. He didn’t truly mind, though.

This room…

This was his history. The start of a new part of his legend. The night he’d been kicked behind the knee was the same night he’d meet the love of his life. Life was strange. People were stranger, the way they grew and changed for the better. Gilgamesh still had his old airs about him but had grown into a wise man who truly cared for his people, whose people cared for him in return. Arthur wasn’t intrusively a co-king in that sense—they didn’t need him, like Britain didn’t really need Uruk after a while.

Gilgamesh sighed, setting a tablet on the table next to the door and removing the hat from his head, tossing it on a sofa.

“So…”

Here was the most ritual of traditions between them. They would tell stories of their legends long into the night the first night they reunited. They would laugh over things that had once caused them great pain, clink glasses and cheer to a brighter future, one they could build for the next generation. Gilgamesh would listen to Arthur’s plight about whether to have Mordred be next in line, Arthur would listen to Gilgamesh talk about how his firstborn was always getting into trouble…

“Mordred has grown. You have no other children, after all…”

“I know, but thinking what they did to you—”

“I have forgiven them. I may never _forget_ , but I’ve forgiven them at the very least.”

“… they do have good leadership qualities.”

“Mhm.”

They both sat on the edge of the bed, watching the curtains get rustled by the wind to the outside of the balcony, seeing the pure blue of the night sky outside, feeling the chill creep in as they leaned in closer for warmth.

“Gilgamesh?”

“Do me a favor. I want my life to be a surprise. I know you don’t have that luxury but I want everything—the good and the bad—to come as it comes. I want every twist and turn to be authentic.”

“You know I can’t promise you that…” Gilgamesh said quietly. “I will always choose to save you if my clairvoyance allows me to.”

“I know, but for everything else—”

“Of course. You want to be the you I see, not the you I foresee.”

Arthur laced his fingers with his.

“But I have to tell you: what I see…”

The moon was just barely visible from his line of sight, occasionally eclipsed by the drifting curtains, and he saw their lives play out so long as he didn’t fight fate. He saw birth, life, and their deaths, and the most curious thing was he could see a glimmer of life stretching after, into a span of time too wide to be truly observed. That he couldn’t understand, but it gave a strange sense of hope.

“… is beautiful.”

\--

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! We're here! Finally at the end, after about a month of writing! To everyone who's been commenting through the whole thing, I love y'all so much, it was the main inspiration to keep me going. I wrote this for me, but in the end, I ended up writing it for all of you, too. I'm sorry for updating so frequently, everyone who checks the FGO/Fate tags must be sick of seeing me here over and over.
> 
> [Here's the theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1Eevyqh3Vk) for this fic, basically. I wrote while listening to this a lot.
> 
> We still have an epilogue to go. I'll give you a hint: Chaldea.


	18. Epilogue

“Do you have the catalyst prepared?” Da Vinci asked, smiling warmly.

It was White Day.

Ritsuka had been reading on early Sumerian history and the strange link between it and early British history. Despite one kingdom having gone on for tens of thousands of years, the brief time they intersected, a legend had emerged from between the two of them. It was preposterous, but it laid groundwork for modern day trade routes that had become commonplace by the modern era. Legend had it that King Arthur died in the battle of Camlann to his child, Mordred, but a rival source suggested the king lived, and had married a Sumerian king, where the rest of their life had been shrouded in mystery.

The source was none other than Gilgamesh and yet another Gilgamesh.

Both the Archer and Caster versions had been summoned to Chaldea, and the wise king and stubborn king were often at odds with one another, but both of them agreed; their master was a failure for not being able to summon their husband.

“When he gets here, he’ll be mine…” Archer gave a haughty laugh. “And you’ll just have to deal with it, Caster. I made him kneel. He _owes_ it to me.”

“You’re a fool. He willingly kneeled before me, more than once.” The crude jest was made at Archer’s expense. “You had to kick him down to do so, hardly a proper way for a king to kneel before another king.”

“Hmph! Watch your tongue and who you call a fool, Caster.”

“Do you guys have it?” Ritsuka asked. Caster pulled a ring off of his hand and placed it in Ritsuka’s palm.

“We have a treasury full of quartz to make him come home. There is no better catalyst than this one.”

Ritsuka nodded. In truth, she had wanted to save for the future, but apparently the timing of the year had to be just right for King Arthur. She had once summoned an alternate version of himself that was a woman—if you can believe it, but the kings had only wanted to pester her for their true husband.

(And this Arturia wanted nothing to do with them, anyway.)

Ritsuka held their arm aloft, beginning the summoning chant with the offerings placed in front of the summoning circle.

“ _If you submit to this will and this reason… then answer!”_

Rainbow sparks lit up at once as the summoning started, filling Ritsuka’s head with a dreamy greed that hoped for one of the best. Archer and Caster merely watched and waited.

Out stepped from the circle a man with a black and white hood, silver armor and blue adornments beneath it. He spoke clearly. “Are you my master?”

“Y—” Ritsuka was shoved aside by Archer as he took Saber’s hand.

“Finally!” He laughed, happily. “Nearly a whole year of waiting and you finally answer this incompetent mage’s summons!”

“… Gilgamesh?” Arthur’s voice felt older than his appearance, and his eyes quickly flitted between Archer and Caster. His immediate instinct was to take one into his arms, but… which…? “Why are there two of you?”

Caster shoved Gilgamesh back and picked up the ring that was used for the summoning, placing it back on his own hand. “We’re summoned from different points in our ages _. I_ am your husband. This one is the one who kidnapped you. Obviously, you can decide who is superior from there.”

Arthur gently rested his hands on Caster’s shoulders, offering a shaky, too-happy smile before Archer split them up and he gripped Arthur’s wrist. “Don’t listen to him. I’m the one you want.”

Caster glared, smiling dangerously. “If you come between us again, I swear to light you on fire.”

“Go on and try it! The Gates of Babylon will have you skewered against the wall if you come between me and Arthur--!”

“We control the same gates, you absolute buffoon!”

“Are you having fun?” Asked a youthful voice from the doorway.

Arthur blinked. “… and as a child, too?” He asked, incredulously.

“Pay him no mind,” Archer demanded. “and pay attention to me.”

Arthur was clearly already dizzied, with Ritsuka waving a hand saying ‘hey, I’m your master’ and feeling totally overshadowed by the two bickering husbands. Arthur walked between them to reach out and kiss her hand, shocking them both.

“Thank you for reuniting me with them, Master. It must have been difficult.”

“You have no idea…”

“I’ll take it from here.” Arthur turned back to the two men who had argued for his hand and put his arms around both of their shoulders.

It was good to be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it, kids! we're done


End file.
